


Bone Rider AU

by AkemiAsh



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Bone Rider - J. Fally
Genre: Alien Sex (Sorta?), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Army Captain!Dan, Bone Rider AU, Doctor!Aaron, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Graphic Violence, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Mob Boss!Andrew, Mob Enforcer!Matt, Multi, Mutual Masturbation?, Non-Consensual Sex sorta?, Other, PR Manager!Nicky, Pro Exy Player!Kevin, Right-hand Woman!Renee, Riko dies within the first 4 chapters, Sex, Slight OOC for our main boys, badass!Allison, masturbation?, only sometimes though, terrible puns and innuendos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkemiAsh/pseuds/AkemiAsh
Summary: Six experimental armors, six unique artificial beings, and of course one of them had to be too much, too independent, had to have too much sense of self. There was always one. In this case, it was System Six, the last one out of the lab. The one intended for the most prestigious host, the second son of the planet’s Lord, turned unwilling test subject. Riko. He of the bitter nasty innards and the slimy subconscious.He wanted out. Oh boy, did he want out.Too bad ‘out’ was a synonym for ‘killed’.Eliminated by either his creators or his own traitorous body.Battle armors like System Six were created to be symbiotic by design; he was physically unable to survive on his own. He and his brothers had been dubbed ‘Bone Riders’ as a result. Scientists with a sense of humor. He hated it.





	1. Prologue: System Six's POV

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys know who I am, you know I have another story I'm working on called "Once More" I will be finishing that story, just give me some time. I've been having a very hard time because I sprained my wrist not...what two months or so ago and I've been writing like a snail, sort of poking at the keyboard with two fingers instead of my usual efficient typing and I've been getting frustrated easily. This story came about after I read a book called Bone Rider by J. Fally. Amazing fucking book, go and read it guys. 
> 
> Anyways, a lot of things are lifted straight from the books and a lot of things are changed, this is because I'm still going to stick pretty close to the original book. 
> 
> I have up to chapter 7 already written out, but I will be posting only once a week, due to my wrist and the fact that I want to write more and more so that I won't ever leave you guys hanging for weeks on end like I did to my poor 'Once More' fans. (I'll get to it, I promise! I'm healing, and its frustrating, but I'm getting there.) 
> 
> Enjoy! and let me know what you think.

The fuckers were going to kill him. He just knew it. He’d been aware of his impending death since the results had been released comparing his top performance with those of his brothers. Not enough. Not invested enough. Well, they weren’t wrong about that one.

If he were inclined towards honesty, there were pieces of his intended partner that he wouldn’t have touched with the pointy end of a blade, much less his own private parts. Which, as an intelligent battle armor and weapons system that was supposed to meld completely with his host, might be seen as an irreparable flaw. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe.

With a sinking feeling, he studied the chart results again. They didn’t get better the more he looked though, and his panic was starting to ratchet up a couple notches. He really should have just resigned himself to his fate and completed the bonding, allowing himself to sync completely with his host’s personality as well as his body.

The issue was, as it so happens, he not only had intense and everlasting intimacy issues, but there was just too much of him and not quite enough of his host. Ending with a profound inability to mesh with his host’s mind or settle comfortably under his skin.

Six experimental armors, six unique artificial beings, and of course one of them had to be too much, too independent, had to have too much sense of self. There was always one. In this case, it was System Six, the last one out of the lab. The one intended for the most prestigious host, the second son of the planet’s Lord, turned unwilling test subject. Riko. He of the bitter nasty innards and the slimy subconscious.

Originally, System Six had been just as eager as his brothers to finally join with his chosen host and begin what was going to be a top-tier life. That was all before he’d been poured down Riko’s throat and found out that he absolutely refused to spend his life tied to someone who didn’t fit him in size or personality.

He wanted out. Oh boy, did he want out. Too bad ‘out’ was a synonym for ‘killed’.

Eliminated by either his creators or his own traitorous body.

Battle armors like System Six were created to be symbiotic by design; he was physically unable to survive on his own. He and his brothers had been dubbed ‘Bone Riders’ as a result. Scientists with a sense of humor. He hated it.

The unavoidable truth was that without bones – or rather a host body – to ride, System Six would shut down piece by piece until eventually all of him was disintegrated. Thus, the attempt at stumbling his way through those god forsaken tests.

Fake it till you make it. Only, he hadn’t made it at all.

“… extremely high, but if you compare them to the other units, the scores are substandard.”

You try running with the pack with your legs bound together, System Six thought resentfully, shoving the report charts he’d stolen back where he found it. Slowly, he inched closer to the doorway, keeping his host’s meat-sack pressed against the wall and unaware of the happenings.

As far as Riko was concerned, they were in their bunk, sleeping like the dead. Riko was probably dreaming about fornication and torture again. Not that System Six really wanted to check, besides he was much too busy eavesdropping on their commanding officers, and frankly, too disgusted, to give a damn. Slimy, nasty, dirty, gross subconscious. Ugh. Keep sleeping, Riko. Not your life those assholes are talking about in there anyways.

“Could be they simply need more time to adjust to each other.”

That’s right, Kir, second-in-command of the Raven and System Six’s new favorite person. That’s exactly what he needed, more time. More time was good. Maybe he could force himself into a bond with Riko after all, given more time.

Or he could figure out a way to jump ship without getting himself killed, because the first option was a non-option.

There had to be a way out of this.

He didn’t want to die. Be dismantled. Be killed, eliminated, disintegrated, shut down, taken out, or worst of all bond fully and completely to Riko. It didn’t much matter what they called it, all of those were pretty much the same thing to him: no more System Six.

He didn’t understand how the other systems managed to be so calm about the threat of extermination. Then again, they had hooked into their hosts completely, what little consciousness they possessed dissolving in the mucky tar of their host’s. Safe in their oblivion, happy in absolute amalgamation. Not that they started out with anything substantial in the individuality department. Sometimes, System Six wondered if he was the only one of his brothers who was truly sentient at all.

“No, look at the readings. The fucking armor is too big. Way too big. The idea was to use the extra material for additional plating under heavy fire, but that can’t work. Too much matter and not enough room. See?” Well, yeah. Despite the general build of you idiots, you’re all more muscle than tissue, too densely packed for me to fit myself where I need to be, System Six snarked back. “In the long run, it’s going to squash Riko’s organs and kill him.”

System Six didn’t bother to try and move Riko’s head to take a peek into the meeting room to see which part of the test protocols were being pointed out. He already knew, and subsequently didn’t like, where this conversation was going.

His performance hadn’t been all that great on base, but the discrepancy between him and his brothers had all been attributed to the general differences between the systems. This had been their first long-distance training session, the crunch-time test.

He’d failed it.

Worse yet, they’d noticed the space issues. None of this was sounding good. They were going to kill him, pull him out like a bad tooth and destroy everything he was.

“The others are doing fine, though,” Kir noted, “Much better than any kind of external body armor we’ve tested so far. I’m thinking Lee was right. Smart Systems are the way to go.”

“They are impressive,” Suji admitted, although a little grudgingly. He was old-school military and had made no secret out of his disdain for the idea of soldiers invaded and joined with intelligent weapons. Too much potential for disaster, he’d argued on their way out to the training grounds. You don’t fuck with individuals like that.

System Six was actually inclined to agree with him on that point, though their perspectives differed to a staggering degree.

Kir chuckled. “Five out of six is pretty impressive too”

Oh, and now she was no longer System Six’s favorite person.

Five out of six meant that one of them was going to be destroyed when they arrived back on base, and System Six had absolutely no doubts as to who that poor unsuspecting victim would end up as so much scrap metal.

Riko’s heartrate spiked in reaction to his agitation. The host mind stirring, only to be slapped down by System Six before it could struggle to full awareness. The last thing he needed right now was his creep of a host interfering with what he had to do. There was no way he was going to let this ship reach the base and hold still while they tore him from this body and pulled him apart. Just because they created him didn’t mean they had the right to undo him.

Time. He just needed more time. They were traveling through space at high speeds, much too fast for System Six to come up with a half-way decent plan before they reached his grave-site. He had to stop the damn ship, or at the very least slow it down some. All right. Engine room. Find the control station, get into the system, hack the override, and hit the damned brakes.

How hard could it be?


	2. Chapter One: Captain Dan Wilds' POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Dan Wilds' POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: System Six POV

It was supposed to be a routine training exercise and missile tests in a fenced-in, rarely used area of military property west of San Antonio. Heat, brush, and the occasional run-in with a disgruntled rattler. Sweating rookie soldiers testing new types of ammunition and camouflage, sweating officers dutifully jotting down the results. Nothing fancy or unusual, except maybe the abnormally high percentage of fucking new guys.

Still, so far nobody had been hit by friendly fire, so Captain Dan Wilds, in command of the exercise, figured they were doing all right. Mostly it was business as usual, right until the bright blue Texas sky turned red above their heads as a glowing, burning missile came screaming from the heavens and pulverized a hill not even five klicks from base camp.

The force of the impact had the ground under their feet shaking, Wilds lost her footing and ended up flat on her face, as did most of her men. Equipment tumbled, one of the expensive, brand-fucking-new radar systems smashed to bits by a crate that bounced like a damn rubber ball, and the newly erected tents collapsed with the clank of toppling metal poles and the sigh of slumping fabric. Some of the soldiers yelled in surprise, at least a quarter of them in pain.

Wilds shook her head to clear it a little and spat out a wad of dirt and blood to the ground. She must have bitten her lip when she’d hit the ground, but all of her teeth were accounted for, so she merely wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and got back up with a grunt.

Her men were staggering to their feet around her, looking dazed and just as wobbly as their commanding officer. Some of them were talking, or maybe shouting, not that she could hear any of them over the din in her head, the roar of her own heartbeat, and the ringing in her ears. She saw their lips moving though.

Wilds’ vision was wonky too, choppy and grainy, overlaid by the persistent flares and black spots caused by looking into too much brightness. She had to hope that her eyes weren’t damaged, but maybe her brain was, because she could have sworn she saw a glimpse of red-hot metal a second before the flaming something that had fallen from the sky met the ground.

It had looked like a big, blazing shape that had defied the laws of physics by spinning along its lateral axis and slowing down before touchdown. She was reasonably sure that wasn’t how a meteorite was supposed to look or behave, and as soon as her ears stopped ringing and she could see again without miniature suns obscuring her vision, Wilds was going to call this shit in and ask permission to check out the crash-site.

Without hesitation, and a little more surefooted than the men around her, she started towards the radio station. Despite the fact that her equilibrium was pretty shot to hell, she had experience walking drunk in high-heels, this shit was no problem in comparison.

As she went, she checked on equipment and men alike, keeping her pacing even so she wouldn’t disgrace herself. She’d fought too damn hard to end up here, and this wasn’t going to be where she failed. The more she saw though, the less looked intact.

What a mess.

Either some soon-to-be discharged asshole had forgotten to relay information about missile testing in the area, or they were dealing with a UXO. As in, unexploded ordnance. Wilds hoped it was the former, because if it wasn’t, then someone somewhere (terrorists? North Korea? Iran? Plenty of enemies to pick from; it could’ve been anybody) had just declared war on the United States.

The thing was that missiles rarely traveled alone. This one might have been a dud, but if it had been part of an attack, then there must have been others, better aimed and fully active. Maybe this had been meant for Houston, though that meant it must have come completely off course. How many other cities had been targeted? How many destroyed? What about Washington DC? Was it even still standing? Had the president been there?

It didn’t matter. Not right now. She needed to keep her head, and first things first. Secure the camp and contact command. Speculation was useless at this point.

Despite the spectacle of what happened, or in all actuality, maybe because of it, it didn’t take her all that long to reach out to command and get as much information as possible.

There were no other missiles, no planned testing, no conceivable origin for what had fallen violently into their vicinity and caught the attention of more than just their group.

With permission to investigate, Wilds gathered a few of her men and made her way to the crash-site.

\--

While everyone in Wilds’ platoon was eager to investigate the strange ordinate of unknown origin, the closer they got to their destination, the tenser they all became. The air smelled burnt, pervaded with the dusty scent of overheated soil and the unexpected aromatic fragrance of charred vegetation. It was hard to tell how much of the eerie silence was due to the shock of the impact as opposed to their collective hearing impairment, but Wilds didn’t spot a single animal anywhere, not even from the corner of her eye.

The bulk of what had once been a rounded flat, was driven into the ground and compressed into a geologists’ delight, but more than enough material was still there, shoved aside by the blast wave.

The men were forced to abandon their vehicles and continue on foot once they reached those ridges of the crater, the four-wheel drive no match for the mess of rocks and overturned earth before them. They fanned out in three squads to cover a bigger area and Wilds led her unit straight up the slope and to the rim, the stones still warm under their boots.

They crawled the last few feet on their bellies, careful not to present a target when peeking over the edge. Wilds felt her stomach cramp a little with anticipation. She’d never done anything quite like this. Checking out crash sites wasn’t included in her usual list of duties and this wasn’t exactly a text-book situation. It made not only her, but all of her men tense with nerves and an adrenaline-fueled sense of excitement. There was an innate curiosity about what they were going to find down there. A shuttle? A drone? Some sort of new stealth plane?

Turned out it was something completely different, in every sense of the word. Apparently, aliens did, indeed, have big, creepy eyes, and were on the smallish side.

They compensated that with big fucking guns.

Wilds stared, paralyzed, as her brain tried to work through a number of realizations all at once. Such as, no, those weren’t people down there even though they looked humanoid, and yes, she was sober and awake, and damn, if the ufologists got so much as a whiff of this, they would cream in their geeky pants.

She counted eight aliens huddled next to the… god help her, that really was a spaceship. They looked tiny next to the immense metal structure, their skin milky white, their knees bent the wrong way, like a dog’s hind legs. They were dressed in something that reminded Wilds a bit of black battle dress-uniforms.

 Looked like only four of them had made it out of the crash virtually unscathed; three were down on the ground, one writhing in pain, one holding on to an improvised tourniquet that kept it from bleeding out through the stump of its leg, one looking dead from this distance. The alien providing first aid didn’t look too hot either. No telling if there were more of them still trapped or dead inside the wreck, which looked pretty mangled. It was a fairly big ship, though; seemed likely there’d be additional crew somewhere.

Wilds took all of this in with only a glance, more interested in the four aliens standing guard. They didn’t look that different from their wounded companions, except that they were upright and alert, holding what had to be weapons and scanning the crater rim with glossy silver eyes. Sentries. The aliens were soldiers, as far as Wilds could guess. Like recognized like. Soldiers gone down in unknown but presumably hostile territory. Her heart started to hammer like crazy at the realization.

She didn’t know what gave her and her men away, but suddenly the sentry aliens spun and focused on them, weapons coming up in what was probably reflex. Somebody on one of the other squads must have been spooked by the action – or the existence of aliens – badly enough to trigger a similar kind of impulse: they squeezed off a shot. Before Wilds could snap out an order to stand down, the aliens returned fire.

Things went to hell pretty fucking quickly after that.


	3. Chapter Two: System Six's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> System Six's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Captain Dan Wilds' POV

Holy fuck. This had not been what he’d planned.

The plan had been to cut transmissions and sabotage the Raven’s navigation system so they’d decelerate and drift off course for a bit.

In some way, he guessed that his plan had actually succeeded, he just hadn’t been expecting for it to succeed quite this well. They were off course, alright.

No contact with anybody, internal communications disabled as well as external doors sealed shut, engines pushed to full speed. The ship was hurtling through space deep into uncharted territory – until a planet got in the way, that is. Then they barely scraped through a ring of small, artificial satellites, smashing a few of them in the process, and went down headfirst with little to no control over anything whatsoever.

By that point, System Six had long come to the conclusion that he should’ve stuck to something simpler, because obviously the finer points of programming were beyond him.

He might have owned up to what he’d done, but that would’ve meant signing his own death warrant and would’ve also been pointless, seeing as there was no way to relay the information to the engine room. He was stuck in the crew quarters with his host and three of the other armor systems, all of them strapped into the padded wall niches designed for this kind of situation and wrapped protectively around their vulnerable carriers.

Riko had stopped contributing semi-constructive suggestions and mindless bravado a while ago and was screaming unthinkingly in tune with the rising and falling wails of the audio alarms as the walls grew perceptively warmer around them. System Six hadn’t expected better from a creature like Riko. He did his best to tune out the shrieking and prepared to detach himself from his unloved host as forcefully as he could manage it, unwilling to die twined into the slime bag who’d driven him to such extreme measures in the first fucking place.

Out. Out. He wanted out, damn it.

He’d already started tugging free, unwrapping himself from Riko’s skeleton, pulling the connectors from his host’s spine, and was about to rip out of Riko’s skin altogether, determined to take the fastest way out no matter what it did to Riko. They were all going to die anyways, might as well do it as a fucking individual.

Just when he was about to launch himself to freedom though, the ship hitched and jerked under them. Even buckled in securely, Riko’s stomach took offense to the flip and he would have thrown up their last meal, but System Six ruthlessly shut that down. His host was disgusting enough on the inside; no need to put it out there for all the world to see. He suppressed the gagging brutally and strained all of their senses to figure out what was going on.

Looked like the technical staff had finally bypassed the ill-conceived changes and regained a measure of control. Too bad it came too late to avoid a crash, but somehow, they’d managed to spin the ship, righting them so the emergency brakes would actually slow them down instead of merely adding that final dramatic touch to their demise.

They still hit the ground at critical velocity though.

\--

It was dark when System Six and his host regained consciousness. Quiet. The only sound around them were the creak of deformed metal settling and straining, the raspy breathing of the other survivors, and the drip of fluid somewhere close by.

What happened? Riko thought, and System Six had to deliberate for a moment to come up with an answer that didn’t sound offensive or guilty. He was still tied to Riko, still needed him to survive; he couldn’t risk offending Riko or tipping him off as to his armor’s mutinous disposition.

 _It appears we crashed,_ he offered finally.

“But why?” Riko insisted, fumbling for the buckles of the safety harness. “Jas?” He asked out loud, his voice shaking. “Cin? You there?”

Someone groaned; then one by one, they reported in, unstrapped themselves, and regrouped near the exit of their quarters.

Outside, emergency lights were flickering weakly, offering just enough illumination for them to comb the tilted, warped rooms and corridors for other survivors. There weren’t many. The tech crew had saved their lives by flipping the ship and engaging the tail thrusters at the last second, but that meant their rear section had taken the brunt of the impact. The doors had been sealed; there’d been nowhere to go and the techs had known it. They had sacrificed themselves to give the rest of the crew a fighting chance.

System Six hadn’t been created to feel guilt, but he wasn’t sure if any other name would fit the uncomfortable emotion nagging at him when he realized that despite the techs’ efforts, most of the crew had perished anyway in his badly executed bid for time.

The four soldiers and their armor systems stared at the mangled, partly melted mess of metal that had once been the heart of the ship. They didn’t need to share the results of their mental calculations. Nobody could have survived in there, not even the two armor carriers that had last been seen headed that way. The entire back end had been destroyed, including the engine room, sleeping quarters, and parts of the science and medical areas. It was a miracle the crash hadn’t engaged the self-destruction protocols or directly activated the doomsday glands within the walls that would have turned the entire ship into a pool of acidic sludge.

Jas, the smallest, most agile of them, squeezed through a gap into the med lab. He found one dead doctor and one dying nurse whom he mercy-killed with a quick jab at the Central nerve cluster at the back of the skull. In near total darkness, he searched the rest of the area, but couldn’t access the rooms beyond. They would have needed tools to cut through the compacted metal, but the burners had been in the equipment room next to the armory, which was situated next to the sleeping quarters, all of which had been squashed flat. Whoever might have survived and was trapped back there, they couldn’t get to them.

Still, they spent some time searching for a different way in, checking air vents and supply chutes. The efforts were in vain. The tail end of the Raven had become a mass grave.

In the end, there were some survivors. The bridge was partly intact, but the systems failure had kept the shields from coming down over the huge, see-through front wall and the force of the crash had shattered the material and rained razor-sharp shards into the room. Two of the officers had been skewered in their seats.

The commander had been lucky: he’d only lost a leg and was currently holding on to the belt he’d used as a makeshift tourniquet with grim-faced determination. Jas and Cin covered the broken window wall with seat cushions and started the slow, painful process of moving Suji and his unconscious second-in-command, Kir, out of the downed ship. They didn’t worry about whether or not they could survive in the environment outside. There were so many tares and holes in the hull of the ship that they’d been breathing planet air practically since touchdown. It hadn’t killed them yet. Frankly, exposure to an alien biosphere was the least of their worries at the moment.

Jas and Riko went back into the bowels of the ship. The small hanger section was almost undamaged. Unfortunately, it had been empty when System Six’s sabotage program had kicked in. They had to use a lever to force open the doors to the weapons center and Jas would have dislocated his shoulder if not for System Five’s hasty intervention, but it was worth it. Two of the four members of the weapons crew had made it through the crash more or less in one piece. They were wounded and only half-conscious, but still breathing.

It took some time to get them outside, but finally the small band of survivors settled on the scorched ground next to the broken body of the Raven and took stock.

It wasn’t looking good.

They were sitting at the bottom of a huge circular crater, a dazzling white sun burning down on them mercilessly from an azure-blue sky and rendering everybody but the armor hosts blind. Gravity seemed about the same as what they were used to, a little less maybe, but the heat and the brightness were debilitating. The armor system could, and would, adapt, but the crew not so much. They’d brought a few guns from the weapons center, but the armory was lost to them, as was most of the emergency and medical equipment.

They were so far beyond the edges of civilized space that nobody would have found them even if they had managed to send off a distress signal. Command might be able to trace the ship’s homing beacon eventually, but that could take years. They’d have to scavenge the ship for supplies later, when they’d taken care of their wounded and secured a perimeter.

All of them were exceedingly uncomfortably aware that they had no idea what was lurking beyond the edges of the impact crater. Siv, the concussed weapons technician, did his best to provide first aid in the meager shadow of the ship while the four bruised but otherwise unhurt armor hosts formed a protective half circle around the more vulnerable members of their party.

System Six tried to ignore his host’s jumbled, jittery mental recitation of military crash protocol as he gathered as much data about the alien world as possible while not fully bonded to Riko’s senses. The first thing he noticed was that it smelled interesting. Richer than what he was used to, wilder. Younger. He found that he enjoyed it quite a bit, he felt more at ease here than he had in the training grounds or the ship. The place tasted like fire and grit. It felt solid and rough. It sounded like dirt shifting, cloth sliding over stone… right… over… there.

For once, Riko caught on quickly, tipped off by System Six’s alarm. He jumped and lifted his gun, prompting the others to follow suit instinctively.

Aliens, Riko thought nearly hysterically. Aliens, there’s fucking aliens out there!

The sudden movement must have spooked the same aliens, because the next thing they heard was a sharp noise, and then Jas gasped as his armor system flooded his right side to parry a high-velocity projectile that would have taken out half his chest.

“Fuckers are shooting at us,” Jas yelped.

“Then shoot the fuck back,” the commander rasped from the ground, his grip around what was left of his leg white-knuckled.

It was all downhill from there.


	4. Chapter Three: Captain Dan Wilds' POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Dan Wilds POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: General POV

Captain Wilds had thought she’d seen it all, especially now that she’d laid eyes on a bunch of honest-to-God outer-space aliens. Her brain had flashed back on a hundred different movie scenes to give her a frame of reference, but there was a difference between being wowed by special effects and watching silver pour out of every pore of the four sentry alien’s skin to wrap them head to toe in armor. She was so distracted by the glint of sunlight on the seamless coat of what looked like metal, she barely noticed them return fire until the dirt exploded at the crater edge to her right.

“Fuck,” she cried, twitching back. “Cease fire,” she barked at her men, still hoping to salvage this first contact situation about to go tits up. “Gordon!”

Private Gordon immediately got on the radio, trying to relay Wilds’ order in case the two flanking units hadn’t caught the command, but even from her position Wilds could hear the static from the speaker. Communications were down. Must have been some kind of interference from the wreck, or maybe the aliens were jamming them. Hard to see how, given the condition of the ship, but they were aliens. Who knew what they could do?

“Radio’s down, sir,” Gordon reported, voice tight and face hard. His skin was sickly pale and sweaty, his eyes round as saucers. He was trying hard to keep it together, but Wilds could see the superstitious fear in his eyes. This was somewhat out of the range of their experience. Anybody’s experience.

“Keep trying,” Wilds snapped, then glared at the other members of her squad, who were clutching their weapons and looking twitchy. They’d probably watched the same movies she had; it was hard to blame them for being upset. However, upset soldiers tended to be trigger-happy soldiers.

“This is a fucking first contact situation, people,” Wilds reminded them. “We don’t engage unless we need to defend ourselves. Is that clear?”

The ‘yes, sirs’ she got in reply weren’t quite as firm as she was used to, but rookies or not, they were soldiers. They would obey.

Wilds got up so she’d be visible from the bottom of the depression, arms spread to show her peaceful intentions.

“United States Army,” She shouted down into the crater. “Put down your weapons and-” This time, she could feel something whistle past her ear so close every hair on her body stood on end. There was no ‘bang’ to accompany the shot – the alien weapons were almost completely silent – but something exploded in the air above her head in a burst of vicious green.

Wilds hit the dirt, swearing a blue streak. Whichever of her men had fired the first shot had effectively destroyed her credibility with the aliens. Also, the creatures likely hadn’t understood a fucking word of what she’d tried to say to them.

The shot from below was answered immediately by a staccato burst of automatic fire, which pretty much nixed any remaining hope for peaceful negotiations, not that Wilds gave much of a damn at that point.

As Wilds watched, one of the sentry aliens dragged the wounded back towards the questionable cover of the wreck, staggering like a drunk when bullets pinged off its silver-covered back. Given the distance between the aliens and her troops, Wilds was impressed that so many of her men’s shots hit their targets. Not that distance was a problem for long.

The three unoccupied armored aliens tossed their huge guns to their vulnerable comrades and took off running, each of them headed straight for one of the squads occupying the higher ground.

Taking the fight to the enemy.

They were fast, faster than Wilds would have guessed given their short statures, though they moved like something other-worldly. No hesitation at all when they reached the steep slope leading up to the ridge; they kept running, falling forward onto all fours to get more traction on the partly glazed surface of the crater’s walls.

“Fall back!” Wilds ordered tersely, not liking where this situation was headed and completely unable to get off the ride either way. She wanted all of her men positioned on firm ground, nowhere near the edge of the crater. “Prepare to engage.”

“Permission to shoot the fucker in the face when it comes over the rim?” Sergeant Knox asked, tense as he watched the alien headed for the Bravo unit briefly lose its footing. The creature simply punched its fist through the rock wall to catch itself and continued to haul itself up without barely even a stumble. They weren’t big, but damn it, Wilds didn’t look forward to confronting one of these things head on, or up close for that matter.

“Affirmative,” Wilds muttered, frustrated and angry, but mostly with herself and with her men. With one stupid shot, they’d missed their chance to de-escalate the situation.

Things started moving in slow motion all of a sudden when the alien’s metal-sheathed head popped over the edge of the crater and the creature heaved itself up onto the ledge and finally in full view. The adrenaline in her system got a swift kick in the ass and gave Wilds the opportunity to take in more details about the armor: angled faceplates with mirrored visors, a tapered breastplate that protected the vulnerable front, flexible layers of metal everywhere else that shifted smoothly with every movement of the alien soldier as it heaved itself over the rim. Up close, it looked even smaller. Maybe 3’11, though oddly broad-shouldered and sturdy. Humanoid, except for their odd inverted legs.

There was no weapon in sight and that fact did nothing to calm Wilds in the least. It was easily the scariest thing about the alien. It made it seem far too certain that it wouldn’t need one to claim victory over them.

Sergeant Knox fired a controlled salvo before the creature had even completely cleared the rim, which was when they all learned that the shiny metal armor repelled the bullets at close range just as effortlessly as it had long range, it also seemed to move on its own to anchor its carrier to the ground so the force of the impact wouldn’t push it back over.

“Oh fuck,” Knox breathed.

The alien growled out something that was probably the alien equivalent of ‘my turn,’ before taking its first step into the fight.

\--

They were losing.

Bullets were useless.

Grenades only slowed it down.

Close combat was a death sentence.

Wilds watched one of her men empty a clip at the visor at point-blank range, but what would normally be a good idea only back-fired. The material covering the head was just as sturdy as the rest of the armor it seemed, and getting within striking distance was a fatal mistake.

The armor seemed to sprout serrated claws in the blink of an eye, long enough to eviscerate the soldier with one swipe right through the bulletproof vest.

He fell with a howl and was silenced almost instantly by a spike through the temple on the way down.

Wilds tried aiming for the creature’s knee joints, and barely escaped being skewered by a double-edged blade herself, pure animal instinct forcing her to flinch back just before the weapon could make contact. The fucking armor wasn’t even dented.

“Fall back!” She screamed. They needed to get back to the vehicles, the weapons stashed there were the only things that could possibly save them now. “To the jeeps! Get the Spitfire!”

They’d spent the last few days testing the newest generation of high-explosive antitank missiles – HEATs – and in particular the AT-742 Spitfire. The Spitfire had passed every test of the exercise with flying colors, surpassed every expectation. Now it was about to get a field test. Smaller, more dependable than, and twice as effective as its predecessors, it was undoubtedly the baddest bad boy in their arsenal. Right now, it also happened to be their only hope of surviving this encounter.

Wilds ran like death was at her heels and Sergeant Alvarez and Private Boone were still the first to reach the jeeps. Wilds saw them snap open the flap and dive into the weapons stash just as a flash of silver caught her attention at the corner of her eye.

It looked as if the alien had realized the potential for threat in whatever new weapon its enemies were about to bring into play and it was trying to cut them off at the pass.

It rushed past Wilds without so much as a glance in her direction, intent on the two soldiers getting the grenade launcher ready to fire.

Ignoring Wilds was a mistake.

One she had no qualms with using to her advantage.

She knew tackling the creature was suicide, but it wouldn’t be the first time Wilds did something unadvisable and she was admittedly highly motivated at the moment.

It was likely the most beautiful slide of her life; the angle pure perfection. The thick-soled, army-issued boots hit the alien’s ankle and knee so hard and fast the armor didn’t have time to grow spikes long enough to stab through the firm rubber, and their combined momentum pushed the alien sideways and off its feet.

The little fucker bounced off the ground like a god damn cat – it hissed like one too – then tripped over a net of roots and went down again.

It wasn’t much, but it was just enough.

A bellowed “Cap’n!” was the only warning Wilds got, and it was the only one she needed. She scrambled up and away from the alien without an ounce of grace and with all the speed her body could manage. The sound of the grenade launcher being fired made her hit the dirt for the second damn time, covering her head and hoping to everything pure in this world that the extraterrestrial fucker wouldn’t be able to dodge that motherfucking missile.

The ‘boom’ wasn’t particularly loud, but the heat that rolled over her form with the shockwave was intense. Wilds pressed herself against the ground as flat as she could, wishing vehemently that she’d gotten just a bit farther away and praying that her BDUs wouldn’t catch fire.

She rolled over as soon as she felt that she could, sitting up and scooting back as her gaze skated over the incline, searching for the alien bastard with her weapon at the ready. Best-case scenario, the creature was torn apart, worse-case scenario, the creature was merely a little stunned but still fully operational. What she got was a burning, smoldering heap of clumped matter, seemingly in one piece but definitely not about to get up again.

Wilds’ mind stuttered a bit on the image, before all of her thought processes came back online once more and she started shouting orders to her men. The gunfire from the direction of the other two teams had been steadily decreasing and she didn’t need to look to know that the body count had been steadily increasing as they’d dealt with their own alien.

By this point, Wilds didn’t even fucking care anymore that it had been her own men who had inadvertently started this fight; she just wanted the aliens dead before they slaughtered the rest of her people.

Alvarez and Boone grabbed the multishot grenade launchers from the back of the jeeps and the squad was about to spit again to give aid to the other two units when Knox shouted a warning.

The remains of the Bravo squad were pelting towards them, four men dripping with sweat and blood, a flash of metallic silver nipping right at their heels.

“Get down!” Wilds roared.

Her scream yielded immediate results. Her men dropped on the spot, leaving the pursuing alien an easy target. It saw the missile coming, but wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid a direct hit. This time, Wilds saw it all. The brief stop, the start of a dodge, then a sudden expansion of the armor just before the Spitfire hit its target and engulfed the creature in a fireball. The explosion looked weirdly muted, half-absorbed by whatever material the alien was wrapped up in, but the result was the same: a crispy fried critter surrounded by a ring of blackened earth.

Two down, one to go.

With their recent victory putting a lot more wind in their sails, Wilds and the rest of her men picked up their bloodied comrades and swarmed towards the southern side of the crater, where Charlie squad was scrambling to stay alive. They ran uphill, panting, high on adrenaline and fear, and then there was this sound, a deep, flat ‘whooomph’, and the ground shook once, hard.

Brightness erupted from the crash site, fire and smoke forming a mushroom cloud that eclipsed the sun.

It should have burned them all, but the edge of the crater shielded them somewhat and the heat wasn’t as intense as Wilds would have expected. She noticed an odd scent in the air, unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. Acrid and sweet at the same time, and she thought, way in the back of her mind, that the aliens must have activated some kind of self-destruct mechanism. It was exactly what she would have done had she gone down on an alien planet and realized the few of her men who’d survived the crash were losing their battle with the hostile native forces and they were all about to become prisoners or worse.

There was a moment, brief and almost lost in the roar of the explosion and the stutter-focus of her awareness, when Wilds felt a deep stab of sympathy for the unknown alien commander who’d had to make that kind of call.

It lasted until she heard one of her men screaming and looked up to see the last remaining alien tear into Private Gordon and rip him apart with inhuman strength.

Illuminated by the falling tower of flames behind them, the creature hacked and sliced through Gordon’s flesh like a madman even after he’d stopped shrieking, right up until the warhead of a Spitfire missile hit them both and stopped it. And if the detonation looked a bit different than the other two… well, Wilds was a little bit too caught up to really care right then. And so were her men.

\--

With that, ended the first encounter between humans and extraterrestrial life-forms. With twenty-one dead and four injured American soldiers, a total of thirty-nine dead aliens (including six armor hosts and five bone riders), a spaceship blown to smithereens, and a huge hole in the ground.

All in all, it probably could have been much worse.


	5. Chapter Four: General POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Neil's POV

Contrary to popular belief, Area 51 was not the place where the US military stowed alien remains and UFO wrecks.

Mainly because, before that point, there weren’t any.

Until the Raven and her crew met their end in the Texas hill country.

None of that meant that the military didn’t have bases equipped to deal with the unexpected.

In the wake of the planet’s first UFO crash and subsequent confrontation with its aliens, it was quickly decided that said aliens’ bodies would be transported to the closest of these facilities. This happened to be Camp Jackson, located in the New Mexico desert north of Silver City. Nicknamed the Basement because most of the site was hidden deep underground, Camp Jackson could provide more than just safe storage. It was also staffed with some of the finest scientific personnel employed by the United States military and housed a battalion of Army Rangers. Secure enough, or so the Powers That Be concluded.

Moving the alien remains took priority for the simple reason that organic matter is almost always prone to disintegration. Flying was out of the question since there was no telling what effects the changing of air pressure would have on the already somewhat porous cadavers. Instead, the bodies were carefully transferred into hazmat containers, labeled, and loaded into the cushioned backs of three military transport vehicles while the Army set up a perimeter around the crash site. The crater itself couldn’t be approached yet because the ship hadn’t merely exploded. It had melted into a steaming, highly corrosive mess and was still in the process of dissolving further.

So far it had been impossible to collect samples and it didn’t look like there’d be enough left in the end to study.

The convoy transporting the bodies consisted of three cargo and two gun trucks. It left as soon as its top secret freight was secured, but by the time it made its way slowly along the winding gravel and back roads of Route 173, the sun was setting, and when they finally merged into I-10 West, it was pitch dark.

In the cargo areas of the first two vehicles, the coffin-line boxes that contained what was left of Jas and Kir vibrated gently in tune with the hum of tires on tarmac. Both bodies were forever merged with their armor systems. Host and symbiont inseparable even in death.

The final box was not quite as peaceful though.

Had the men placed with the containers not been so busy speculating about what exactly it was they were guarding, they might have heard the thin scratching from the inside. Had the interior of the cargo area not been so dimly lit, they might have noticed the tiny crack that opened up at the bottom of the metal crate, or the stream of what looked like quicksilver oozing from the fracture and through a gap in the floorboards. However, it was dark and the men didn’t have orders to stay silent, so System Six managed to slip out unnoticed.

The renegade Bone Rider clung to the undercarriage of the truck until every last bit of him was free of Riko’s charred carcass and what he thought was some kind of alien corpse-carrying-box, and then he dropped to the ground with a soft, liquid sound and lay still.

The rear guard passed right over him, but the driver didn’t recognize the significance of what, to him, looked like a puddle on the otherwise dry road. No alarm rang out, nor the squeal of brakes. After a while, the taillights of the trucks disappeared in the night.

System Six was free.

Now he just needed to figure out a way to survive.


	6. Chapter Five: Neil's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Andrew's POV

A little past midnight, a battered black pick up truck crested the hill not too far from where the military convoy had lost part of its rather unusual cargo.

The truck had seen better days, but since it was stolen, the driver was not about to complain. Its engine ran smoothly and its tires ate the miles with a monotonous, satisfying hum.

Like its driver, the truck was used to being on the road, accustomed to the endless band of highway in front and behind and the changing scenery rushing by in familiar patterns of stillness and motion.

The hands that held the wheel were nimble and steady, yet scarred by thin white lines and circular burns on the knuckles, palms, and up to just below the elbows. Despite the terrible, painful scarring though, the hands are gentle enough to cradle kittens and dexterous enough to perform all manner of slight of hand, pick-pocketing and misdirection skills trained from a very young age.

The feet working the pedals were protected by a pair of comfortable worn-in combat boots, dark and still reliable in a way their owner had likely never really been.

The rest of the trim, well-toned body lounging on the scuffed leather of the driver’s side bench seat was wrapped in sun-bleached denim and a Tin Star Employee shirt that smelled of smoke, sweat, and faintly of spilled alcohol.

Had circumstances been different, Neil Josten might have enjoyed this late-night drive. Hell, if circumstances were different, he’d be in the passenger’s seat of a sleek black Maserati listening to the radio on low and keeping icy blue eyes on a blond figure smoking languidly, one hand on the wheel, and the other on Neil’s thigh.

The lack of that blond figure in the car was like an oppressive weight dragging Neil down.

He used to be better at this, used to be able to cut ties in the blink of an eye and be gone the next day. Moving on was old hat. Don’t stop, keep moving, never stay anywhere too long, never be anyone for too long, and most importantly, survive. How could he have forgotten his mother’s words so quickly.

As it was, Neil was miserable. He was tired, heartsore, and more than just a little unsettled. He’d left South Carolina in a hurry, grabbing only his duffle bag, which left him with the bare necessities and nothing more, just like his mother had taught him. He wasn’t hurting for cash, but he never managed to stay anywhere longer than a night or two before another shadow has him moving on like a skittish horse. That he was used to this kind of life didn’t make him any less resentful of it.

The only reason Neil hadn’t already turned around and driven right back to South Carolina was that it was possible that maybe, just maybe, his paranoia wasn’t entirely unfounded. Better safe than sorry and all that, especially when the lives at stake weren’t his own.

He’d known the risks when he’d gotten involved with Andrew. Despite his best attempts to convince himself otherwise, he’d known from the get go that getting attached to any one place, any one person was a liability. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Not in the beginning… how could he have allowed that to change.

Neil had gone against everything he’d ever been taught and now he was paying the price for it. His punishment: Walking away.

He’d thought… for a while there, he’d really believed…

Neil swallowed, hands tightening on the wheel.

No. No thinking about that anymore.

He’d fucked up. He knew it, he’d accepted it, he was over it. He needed to be over it. It still stung, sure, would likely sting for a while, but it was just like Andrew always said, it was nothing.

‘Don’t come crying to me when somebody breaks that pretty little face of yours.’

‘There is no this. This is nothing.’

‘I hate you.’

Fuck it was really no use. No matter that he’d ran for Andrew’s sake, this wasn’t going to just get easier. He was alone again. On the road on his own, only this time he didn’t have his mother by his side. He didn’t have Andrew, or Nicky, or Kevin, hell, he even missed Aaron at this point. He’d found a place there with those people, he’d found a home and somewhere to belong. Someone to belong to. An anchor he thought would finally hold him.

He should have known better.

“Fuck…” Neil sighed into the empty air of the truck’s cab, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to hold back the aching in his chest. 

He was doing the right thing. He still believed that.

He had to believe that.

His gut told him to keep hauling ass, his instincts screaming to run despite how much the entirety of the rest of him insisted he turn back. Go back to Andrew, stay with Andrew.

As Neil drove, he took a sip of the god-awful coffee he’d bought at a gas station, nose wrinkled in disgust, he glimpsed something over the rim of his cup, something like a puddle, but the truck was there and rolling over it before he could really process the image. It made him frown a little because the weather was dry, had been dry for a while, and the puddle hadn’t looked like an oil spill.

He was too tired to do anything but glance in the rearview mirror out of curiosity. There was nothing on the road behind him, so he figured it must have been a trick of the light Maybe a heat mirage. He didn’t know if that was possible in the middle of the night and he didn’t care.

Five minutes and as many sips of coffee later, the engine stalled. Neil swore sharply, shoving the cup back into the holder, and quickly guided the car onto the emergency lane. He wasn’t really all that surprised. Middle of the night, no one around, in a hurry… of course the truck would pick this moment to get ornery. If you couldn’t count on anything else, you could count on Motherfucking Murphy’s Law.

The night was warm and quiet as Neil made his way out of the truck, pushing the door shut behind him and palming the knife he kept at his back. The only sounds were that of the buzzing and chirping of insects and the rustle of the window in the hardy little shrubs all around the road. It was as good a time for a break as he was likely to get.

With a deep stretch to sooth the kinks out of his back, Neil breathed in the rusty air of Texas’ warm night and couldn’t help thinking about Andrew.

What was the blond doing? Was he looking for Neil now? Did he miss Neil like an amputated limb like Neil found himself missing Andrew?

Fuck… he needed to stop this.

Sighing at the hopelessness of the thought, Neil reached into the truck to dig a flashlight out of the glove compartment before climbing back out and popping the hood.

“All right,” he muttered, mostly to hear himself speak and break the silence as he leaned forward to look. “Let’s see…”

There was silver all over the engine block, and it had nothing to do with the light of the full moon over his head. It was moving, shifting, slithering around. Neil stared at it, uncomprehendingly for only a second, his fatigued mind too sluggish to go from ‘huh-pretty-but-what-the-hell’ to ‘gah-its-moving-get-away!’ in time to duck when the writhing mass lunged for him.

It hit him right in the face.

Neil stumbled back a step and tripped, going down on his ass and dropping the flashlight. He reached up to try to grab at the thing in his face but panic was getting the better of him. His fingers sank into smooth, silky matter without encountering resistance. It slipped through his hands like greasy ashes, flowed over his skin like solid, physical smoke. It was everywhere, coating his throat, his shoulders, tracing his jaw, stroking his lips and tongue as he opened his mouth to scream.

Bad move.

Eyes wide, heart hammering frantically, awake now and all too aware, Neil tried to force his mouth closed and clenched his teeth in a vain attempt at keeping the thing from crawling further in. He shook his head and clawed at his own face wildly, trying to get it off, keep it out. Thin, high little noises of protest rose from his chest, like an animal caught in a trap, but the creature didn’t care, didn’t stop.

Cool and slippery, it edged in, opened him up, invaded his mouth and nose and poured itself down his throat while he jerked and bit at it. He panicked, gagged, breath stuttering through airways that suddenly felt cramped and too narrow. Like drowning on land. Choking on wet cement. Blackness swirled franticly at the edges of his vision and Neil fought that as well, scared to death of losing consciousness, of giving in, of not knowing what was happening to him.

He pitched forward, scrabbling at the ground with his hands futilely and yakking desperately, his entire body shuddering with the effort to expel the unwelcome intruder. He felt raw, violated, unable to bite down on the reedy whimper that escaped when the last bit of the thing glided into him with a little pat against the roof of his mouth.

On his knees in front of the car, Neil coughed and retched and trembled, every sense focused on what was going on inside him. He could breathe easier now, but his belly felt full and heavy, icy cold radiating from his center. It was seeping into his muscles and sinews, made them feel sore and overstretched. There was a tickle along his spine, an itch so deep down it must have come from his bones.

Neil groaned and panted as shock crept in past the edges of panic and fear, numbing his perception and fucking his system even worse. He felt nauseous, frozen and waiting for what came next, vaguely aware of how thready and weak his pulse was getting. His teeth chattered; his whole body shook helplessly.

Then the creature did something to his head that felt like being sliced open and eaten alive, and Neil reared up and screamed. Loud, hoarse and desperate with hurt. He felt it stab at him, into him, penetrate him even deeper, rooting around until it could infiltrate every inch of his body. Cold and hot at the base of his skull, a raspy lick against raw nerves. He tensed, tried to prepare himself for the pain, but there was no anticipating, no dealing with the kind of agony that followed.

This time, he didn’t fight the blackness.

He submitted.


	7. Chapter Six: Andrew's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Neil's POV

The idiot.

The moronic, stupid, unbelievable idiot. The goddamn imbecilic martyr of a man doomed to be Andrew’s downfall one way or the other.

The desk in Andrew’s office had once been pristine, tidy and meticulously organized. A habit he’d picked up from Bee a long time ago.

Lots of workspace, everything neatly arranged for maximum efficiency. He’d known where everything was at merely a glance, hadn’t had to think twice before reaching out to grab whatever it was he needed at any given time. It was how he’d built himself up from the bones of his childhood as a foster kid. He’d decided for himself that in his life, he’d have control, he’d have order and discipline, despite the fact that he wasn’t at all a neat-freak by any means. He was just more comfortable when things were in their rightful places.

This had certainly come in handy more than once when Neil and he hadn’t made it back to the bedroom and ended up devouring each other right there on the sturdy table, drenching the wood with their sweat and cum.

Neil had been breathtaking spread out on the dark mahogany in sweet exhaustion and smiling like the angel he most definitely wasn’t.

It was becoming apparent though, that Neil had taken Andrew sense of order with him when he ran away (among other things), because right now the desk was an unholy mess. The only thing not buried under maps and reports about Neil Josten’s possible whereabouts was the phone.

Nowadays, Andrew got twitchy when he couldn’t see his phone. He was staring at it now, willing it to ring. Willing Neil, wherever he may be, to stop being a damn idiot and call him. Though if not Neil, Andrew was hoping for at least something from Higgins, even if no call from Higgins meant the man was busy, and ‘busy’ means ‘following a lead’ and any lead right about now would be more than just appreciated.

One more dead end and Andrew was going to take matters into his own hands, and no one wanted that kind of destruction. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool, so that rat-bastard Police Detective he’s got on his payroll better bring him good news when he finally deigned to report in.

Andrew was none too happy about the forced inactivity, pacing around the phone, waiting, strung out on irritation and a low simmering rage bubbling up from his stomach, only egged on by the knifes edge of worry in his chest that was getting worse with each minute passed.

He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten, though he vaguely recalled Nicky putting a bowl of oatmeal with honey in front of his face earlier. Long enough ago that it wasn’t adding to the churning in his stomach anyways. At this rate, Neil was going to give him an ulcer in addition to the headache he’s already got.

Normally, Andrew did fairly well with passivity. Running a crime syndicate required a touch of both active and passive patience. He took charge when the need called for it, but it was usually fear that kept most of his subordinates and his enemies toeing the line. He was by no means used to doing any of the legwork finding Neil seemed to be requiring, but that didn’t stop Andrew’s agitation with the idiot from mounting.

In a situation like this one, where Neil was involved, he’d rather take this on with his own two hands and run the fucking asshole down until he found him and then wring his scrawny little neck until he extracted a promise that Neil would never, ever run from him again.

Andrew glanced at the phone. It sat on the desk like a sleek silver bug, taunting him with a malicious silence that was clawing at all of Andrew’s carefully compiled nerves.

He should have fucking known. He should have seen it coming.

Andrew could remember that look in Neil’s eyes during their last night together. The soft sadness of it, the acute sorrow and… fuck it… the love there. Not to mention his last words when the two of them had finally cum together.

“Thank you. You were amazing.”

Fucking hell.

He was supposed to be a professional. Cold and calculating. Serious and calm, an impenetrable fortress. Or that’s what he had been before Neil had walked into his life and fucked him up beyond all recognition. Best thing that ever happened to him. Most painful too, and it rankled Andrew something fierce to admit that, even to himself.

Andrew couldn’t help the anger at himself and his weakness.

He knew he had to stop this obsession, this liability. Stop thinking about Neil, about the tenderness in Neil’s eyes every time those cool blues turned to Andrew.

They’d had a good time, yes, but that was over now. They were over now. He had to get his shit together. Neil had run. He’d taken off and –

The phone vibrated.

Andrew was across the room, snatching it up, and answering before the ringtone even had a chance to start playing. The song only reminded him of Neil anyways.

“Talk.”

Higgins must have been well aware of Andrew’s current stress levels, because he was prompt and to the point. “I found him,” the pig reported evenly. “He’s in Texas.”

Andrew was not going to examine the instant flurry of things in his chest and stomach. It didn’t matter much anyways. “Where exactly is he?” Andrew demanded, already moving towards his bedroom to collect his traveling bag. He was going to go get his idiot back personally.

The brief silence on the other end of the line was telling, and Andrew paused, shoulders tensing somewhere around his ears. “He was in San Antonio. Staying at a hotel under the name Drew Doe.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck. That sentimental son of a bitch.

Despite that little punch to the kidney though, Andrew picked up on the careful phrasing immediately. “Was?”

“He took off late last night.”

Andrew’s fingers tightened on the phone until the casing creaked ominously. “Took off?”

It wasn’t hard to picture it, Neil was a runner after all. Despite the three plus years they’d spent together, Andrew had always known that Neil was one strong breeze away from bolting. He wouldn’t stop anywhere for too long, not again. Not after so much time spent in South Carolina building something with Andrew. Yet it still begged the question: “So where is he now?”

“Gone.”

Holy fuck, Andrew was going to commit murder. He was going to explode and take this whole damn house with him. He was going to tare Philip Higgins apart limb from limb, burn the remains, and spread the ashes in Sir and King’s litterbox.

“Gone where?”

“West,” Higgins answered as though that had been obvious.

Andrew grit his teeth. “And you’re sure?”

“I saw him take the ramp on the I-10, but I lost him in the traffic – everybody and their damn grandmother’s driving a pickup here. Could be he’s going somewhere else, but I’m thinking he’s running west. Boys a damn fart in the wind.”

Higgins had a point there. Andrew allowed himself a small smirk, throwing out his challenge, “Can you find him again?”

Higgins snorted. “I’ll keep you posted,” he grunted when he was sure his displeasure at the implied insult had been received and understood.

“Do that,” Andrew told him before snapping the phone shut.

He’d have to call Renee at some point today, if for nothing else than just to let her know that Higgins had finally located Neil and they had a rough estimate of time and distance to attach to a location. He’d definitely be bringing her when he went to collect what was his.

When he finally had Neil back with him, he’d put Allison on the annoying idiot’s detail. Whatever had scared Neil enough to run had to still be lurking in wait for him.

Andrew knew all about Neil’s family.

The Wesninski’s weren’t the most notorious of families. Their only real claim to fame in the underground was that Nathan Wesninski played serial killer on the side. Andrew had spent the last two and a half years gathering anything and everything he could in an attempt to bring the Wesninski empire down and protect Neil from his own father.

Andrew had never actually told him that though.

Andrew hadn’t even told Neil that he ran his own crime syndicate for a living.

At first it had been nothing more than a game. Andrew had approached Neil knowing exactly who he was and attempted to pick him up for the night. To say that he had bedded the elusive Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a prize all its own. Yet Neil had turned him down.

Alright, so not turned him down. He just didn’t comprehend that what Andrew had been doing was flirting.

That had made the man suddenly interesting. To be so smart, so savvy and attentive, yet completely miss when someone was rather obviously hitting on you? There had to be more there.

It had been Andrew’s first mistake.

Neil had caught his attention in a way no one ever had before. Despite knowing exactly who the other man was, Andrew never turned him away when he came looking for a conversation. Usually, about Exy and why he retired, about Kevin Day and what it was like to win an Olympic Gold Metal when he was only 24.

There game had progressed from there. Sharing truths, answering questions far more personal than anyone had ever gotten. Digging into each other like invasive animals always wanting to know more, to understand more, to see more.

He remembered the first time he’d kissed Neil.

They’d been on a roof of one of Andrew’s hotels, watching the sun set. Despite the quiet around them and the cigarettes between there fingers, there was a calm buzz of contentment around them both. Something Neil had admitted to never having felt before. And then, like it just popped into his head, Neil turned to Andrew and asked: “Can I kiss you?”

Andrew had never had something he honestly cherished. He’d never believed he ever would.

Until Neil kissed him.

Two and a half years later, Neil still doesn’t know the truth and Andrew still struggles with the decision to tell him. He knows the things Neil’s father had done to him, had let his people do to his own son. He’d felt the scars, under his hands, his lips. He’d been there when the nightmares struck suddenly and swiftly. He’d been the one to piece the fragile lonely runaway back together. Yet he was still a Mob Boss. He was the head of a crime syndicate. In some ways, he was just like Neil’s father.

How could he admit that to Neil without causing him to run again?

Fuck. That wasn’t even the worst of his problems right now.

The only thing he wanted to focus on was finding Neil Josten. He’d figure out how to convince the idiot to stay after he had the man back where he belonged. At Andrew’s side.


	8. Chapter Seven: Neil's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's POV
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Masturbation(?), Non-con sex(?), sexual content, sorta-kinda-maybe rape that isn't really that rapey because its supposed to be a dream so Neil consents but still(?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Neil's POV

The ground was shaking. The air vibrating with a dull roar the pierced straight into Neil’s poor ears. The stench of rubber and exhaust fumes permeated everywhere.

Still mostly unconscious, and honestly completely okay with that, Neil muttered a half-hearted protest when a bright light burned through his closed eyelids. He’d have turned his face away, but his limbs felt so heavy and he was still so tired. He couldn’t even gather up enough energy to twitch, let alone move with any sort of purpose.

Something large and dark shrieked past his prone body, pelting him with dust and gravel, but mercifully the god-awful light was gone and Neil couldn’t care less about anything other than that.

He lay there for a minute or two, woozy and doing a pretty good impression of roadkill as he struggled through the cobwebs and fuzz-bunnies in his mind, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. He remembered catching a glimpse of Romero at the Tin Star and getting the hell out of dodge with as much stealth and speed as he could manage because his only weapons were his knives and the gun his mother left behind after she died, and he really didn’t intend to ever use either on a human being again if he could help it. He’d been driving, drinking coffee, and then… then…

“Hey, buddy, you alright?”

Neil would have startled if there had been any energy left in his body at all. As it was, he had to pry his eyes open and blink stupidly at the sight of a pair of scuffed cowboy boots right in front of his face. Shit, was he on the ground?

“Hey. Hey, can you hear me?”

Deep voice, Midwestern-flat, wary but with a hint of concern hiding just beneath. The boots shifted and were replaced by knees in grimy jeans. A hand closed around Neil’s shoulder, shaking him gently. It helped.

Slowly, Neil began to come to. Realizing he was, in fact, lying on the ground, cheek pressed against the cooling surface of the I-10 emergency lane next to his truck. He just didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Had he passed out? Why would he, though?

When Neil tried to roll over, he was surprised to find that he could do so easily. Somehow, for some reason, he’d been expecting it to hurt. He wasn’t sure why.

“I’m fine.”

Okay, his throat ached a bit, but not too bad. It felt like the aftermath of letting Andrew fuck his throat for a long while or maybe the first twinges of a minor cold.

He sat up and finally took in his surroundings in full, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched – and not by the guy who was eyeing him critically now. Mr. Good Samaritan was the only one there, though, so Neil pushed down the first tendrils of his old familiar friend, paranoia, and focused on the man.

Stocky and bearded, well-worn around the edges in a way that spoke of a long time on the road. Neil recognized the look of a trucker, he’d spent most of his childhood on the run with his mother getting rides from some good, kind truckers. When he looked around for the man’s ride, he found it just a few yards ahead of them. Well that explained the noise and the lights that had woken him earlier. Hard to sleep with an eighteen-wheeler braking right by your head.

“You sure?” the trucker asked, understandably skeptical. “You looked dead, pal. I was about to call 911. What happened?”

“I-” Neil floundered. Fuck, he had no idea what had happened. “I’m not sure. Head rush?” He admitted instead. Shit, he had spent much too long with Andrew. He couldn’t even lie properly anymore. It was as good an explanation as any though. He felt odd: queasy, claustrophobic, crowded in his own skin. Bruised and heavy in a way he couldn’t define. Kinda shocky, like he’d just been in an accident or something.

He squinted up at the truck he’d stolen and found it undamaged (good thing Mr. Good Samaritan hadn’t called the cops after all). Not an accident then.

The trucker frowned. “Well, you alright now? ‘Cause I gotta be in Tucson by noon and I wanna swing by my old lady’s place on the way, so I can’t hang around for long. You need anything? Want me to call an ambulance?”

Oh hell no. Neil shook his head carefully, his old instincts coming back to him at last.

“No, sir. I’m good.” He pushed himself off the ground and stood offering his hand to the man to shake. “Hey, thanks for stopping, though. I appreciate it.” Without even really thinking about it, he’d adapted the man’s accent flawlessly. This seemed to put the man even more at ease.

“Sure thing.” The trucker grinned, shaking the hand and patting Neil in the back. “Listen, maybe you shouldn’t get behind the wheel if you don’t know why you passed out. I can take you to Sonora, if you want. Drop you off at a motel.”

It was a tempting offer. Leave the stolen pickup on the side of the road and disappear with a non-descript trucker to the nearest town. It would be nice to take some time out, go to sleep in a nice, clean bed and collect his mind so he could build up his walls again. But he couldn’t leave the evidence here. Leaving the pickup here would guarantee it would be found and questions would be asked. That was something Neil couldn’t afford.

“Nah, I think I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Got some trail mix in the car; that should help me out. Get going, I’ll be right behind you.”

“All right. You take care, man.”

“I will.” Neil promised, watching as the man turned and walked back to his truck. With a final glance at Neil, he got into the cab of the truck and the dark metal behemoth hissed and groaned as he put it in gear, then rolled back onto the interstate and picked up speed.

Neil watched the taillights slowly disappear down the road and groaned, one hand running down his face and rubbing at his achy jaw. Turning back to the pickup, he noticed the hood was up.

Dread seemed to be scraping sharp claws gently down his spine and Neil frowned. Something didn’t feel right and he wasn’t sure if it was just his heightened sense of paranoia, or if it was something more serious. He paused when he was halfway to the truck, hesitant to step any closer for some reason.

Something had happened here, but he’d be damned if he could tell anyone exactly what that was. Instinct was telling him that it had something to do with the nagging suspicion that he wasn’t alone when he clearly was. That itchy, unsettled impression of being too full that made him want to turn himself inside out, shake out everything loose and needless, until the sensation ebbed away. He touched a hand to his belly and pressed down gently, but there was nothing to feel. No pain or discomfort.

He dropped his arm and made his way to the truck.

Outwardly, there didn’t seem to be anything amiss. The truck was waiting patiently, a dull black shape in the moonlit night. Neil stooped to grab his flashlight from the ground and inched closer to peer into the engine compartment. A weary part inside of him almost expected something to jump out and bite him, but when nothing happened, his shoulders relaxed. The engine looked fine, nothing out of the ordinary.

With a muttered swear he slammed the hood shut and made his way back to the cabin.

He turned the key and the car hummed to life without a hitch.

Neil looked around suspiciously once more, but like before, he was alone.

Paranoia.

Fuck, he was turning into his mother. He did not want to turn into his mother.

You’re losing it, Abram, he told himself. It sounded frightened even in his own head, which only made him grit his teeth.

Fuck this.

He put the car in gear and got back on the highway.

\--

Despite the unorthodox events of the night, Neil didn’t get tired again until he hit El Paso in the morning. He’d been there before, and he knew that just five miles outside the city line, there was a hollow rock sunk half into a hold that housed documents and cash that once belonged to Mary Hatford.

Neil wasn’t going to pick it up. He had enough for now.

Rush hour dragged his trip into the city to a near halt as he inched along with the other drivers, following the wide, winding band of the I-10 that ran through El Paso like a jugular vein. The sight of all of those cars packed so closely together briefly intensified the anxiety that had haunted him ever since the uncanny interlude in the desert.

He’d stopped twice more on the way, ignoring the need for speed long enough to search the truck top to bottom for possible memory erasing stowaways. He didn’t find a damn thing, but he knew he wasn’t alone.

Despite his fear that this was nothing but the dregs of his mother’s unhealthy paranoia, he could sense another presence so close by he should have felt hot breath against his skin. Yet there was nothing and no one around him. Only him, the stolen truck, and the road.

He’d even gone as far as to examine his coffee to see if there was any possibility that he’d been drugged, but even that came up empty. Not that he actually thought someone would drug him, he didn’t have any of the tell-tale signs he knew would warn him when he’d been drugged. He was honestly fine.

Other than the blackout, he felt physically fine. Not drunk, or overly confused, or slow. No nausea, tremors, blurred vision, or trouble breathing.

None of this was making sense.

No matter what he tried or how he analyzed it, he couldn’t shake the insane conviction that he’d picked up a stowaway. Maybe he really was following his mom down the rabbit hole, but sometimes he could have sworn he felt something move in him.

It wasn’t anything intense. A twinge here, a subtle shifting there, and none of it felt like normal muscle flutters or tics. It brought up the mental image of spiders inching along his bones, slinking between his sinews, tapping delicate hairy legs against the inside of his skull. At which point he would shudder every so often in violent revulsion.

He’d gotten used to it in the six hours he’d spent driving, but it was no less unsettling. It helped though, that exhaustion was finally catching up with him.

Every time his mind tried to trick him and induce the near constant agitation, his body would rebel and draw it back out. No one could keep up the high tension for so long, no matter how much practice at it Neil actually had.

Fatigue smashed him down right outside of El Paso, where it curved up north towards the New Mexico border, and Neil was quick to find a gas station to fill the tank, and then a hotel for the night.

Within twenty minutes, Neil was riding the elevator up to the fourth floor and almost staggering down a long, empty corridor to a nice, quiet room.

Tossing his duffle against the side of the bed, he shed all of his clothes and fell onto the covers, naked and grimy. His body still hummed with the echo of his driving and the lingering not-quite memory of pain.

\--

He dreamed of Andrew.

It actually wasn’t all that surprising. Andrew had been a permanent feature in Neil’s dreams pretty much since they’d first met, even if at that point, Neil wasn’t sure about the blond and his motivations.

Wet dreams, funny dreams, bizarre dreams, soul-chilling nightmares; he’d had them all, and more often than not, Andrew was there. Neil had gotten used to it and admittedly reveled in it.

He didn’t have Andrew’s eidetic memory, but in his dreams, Andrew’s features and figure were always perfectly detailed. Everything else could be nothing but a blur of color, yet Andrew would be the only thing in high definition. That was something Neil was extremely used to.

What Neil wasn’t used to, though, was the location of the current dream.

He didn’t fantasize about outer space. Ever.

Neil had a habit of living in the moment and keeping both feet firmly planted on the ground in case he needed to run again. He didn’t even enjoy flying all that much, especially with Andrew’s fear of heights. Yet here he was, in an empty, spacious room made of what looked like metal but felt warm under his bare feet, staring through a glass wall into the star-dotted nothingness beyond.

It was fucking creepy, is what it was.

“You’re shivering,” a voice said from behind him. “Are you cold?”

It wasn’t Andrew’s voice, he’d recognize that anywhere, but when Neil turned around, there was Andrew. Or not.

It looked like Andrew. An even 5ft, strong and built, short blond hair messy on top, the once-broken nose that made it easier for others to tell him and Aaron apart at first glance now. This was his Andrew – only, it was an Andrew made of the same silvery metal that made up most of the room.

It was such an odd combination of right and wrong that Neil couldn’t do anything but stand there and stare. The metal Andrew stared back for a moment, then gave him a slow, thorough onceover, taking in every inch of Neil’s naked form from his scarred, cut up torso to his toned and lean legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, something close to awe in his unfamiliar voice, and that was once again, so wrong even if the words were right. “Inside, too. You fit me perfectly. This is amazing. It’s so easy. I never thought I could want to touch. I never realized I could feel so much.”

Neil resisted the urge to cover himself, his mind still trying to keep up with what was going on here.

That was Andrew’s face. It was the image of Andrew, one Neil would recognize with his eyes closed by feel alone, yet this wasn’t Andrew.

It wasn’t only the voice and the amount of emotion in it. It was also the words and what they meant. While Neil had heard Andrew say ‘You’re beautiful. Inside, too. You fit me perfectly.’ His Andrew wouldn’t ever say it like that.

“You’re not Andrew.” Neil commented, more an observation than anything.

Metal Andrew smiled wide, an odd expression to see on his face, but it made Neil smile back.

“No. Not Andrew. Do you mind that?”

Neil paused.

If he were honest, then no. He didn’t mind. This may not be Andrew, but it looked like it. He missed Andrew. Missed their moments on the roof, their calm silences, their bone deep understanding. It had been something he’d had constantly for nearly 3 years, but now he had been without it for so long. Two fucking long months.

“No. I don’t mind. Will you sit with me?”

Again, Metal Andrew smiled. “I’d love to.”

They sat together, a foot apart with their backs to cold silver, facing the endless black of space outside the large port window.

“What is this place?” Neil asked.

“Well, to you it’d be your dreams. To me, its somewhere I can meet you. I wanted to meet you.”

Neil’s eyebrow rose, he turned to look at the person beside him in silent question. Just like his Andrew, the question came out loud and clear.

“I did something bad. I didn’t mean to, but I was desperate to survive. I was going to die. You saved me.”

“How did I do that?”

“You let me in. You didn’t want to, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I hurt you. Will you let me in now?” Metal Andrew’s voice was low, his eyes intent, expression serious.

With his face like that, Neil could almost pretend that this Andrew was His Andrew. Almost.

“Why do you want me to let you in?” Neil found himself asking instead.

Metal Andrew’s hand reached out, smooth silver fingers shining a bit in the low overhead lights. “Yes or no?”

That question shot electricity through Neil’s body. The question Andrew always asked before touching Neil, before kissing him and taking him apart at the seams. Neil’s body flared to life for a moment, before he realized who was next to him.

“Yes.” He answered.

Smooth silver hands brushed his cheek and the cold of it made Neil shiver. The smile on the other man’s face was warm in contrast, a small intimate thing that Neil had only ever seen right after sex.

“You’re so warm.”

Neil closed his eyes, allowing himself this.

He missed Andrew. Missed their fleeting touches, their burning, fighting kisses. He missed the feel of Andrew’s body held taught above him. Andrew’s fingers tracing his scars softly, admiring them as a sign of Neil’s survival instead of the disfigurement they were.

Part of him wanted to give into this. This dream, or whatever.

Yet another part of him held out, because this wasn’t Andrew. Not His Andrew.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I hurt you before. It was necessary – I needed to connect – but I didn’t realize it would be so painful for you. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you feel so nice. Will you, Neil? Will you let me in. Give me access. I won’t hurt you again, I swear.”

Neil barely heard the words.

With his eyes closed, his heart thumping against his ribcage, his body crying out for Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.

“Yes or no?”

Neil couldn’t help it. “Yes.”

The kiss that came was bruising. A battle, a back alley brawl, a motherfucking bar fight. It was Andrew’s kiss despite the fact that it didn’t taste or feel like Andrew at all. Sleek and metallic with no real flavor at all.

A hand grabbed onto the back of his neck while another curled around his thigh, fingers kneading and caressing, tracing patterns into the skin there. The arousal seemed to hang in the air, getting thicker and thicker as they both stoked the fire. Despite himself, Neil was getting hard.

He pulled away. “Where can I-”

“Above the waist.”

Fuck. Andrew.

Andrew had spent years awakening Neil’s normally dormant sex drive, chipping away at his emotional walls until he’d managed to burrow himself in so deep that there was no getting him out. He’d done damage that couldn’t be repaired. Ever. Neil didn’t have any real self-control when it came to him, couldn’t distance himself from the craving for his touch and his presence.

The sheer force of this silver man’s want seemed to bulldoze right over whatever remained of Neil’s fragile walls with an insistence and passion that felt so very familiar Neil was caving under it all.

All hands, and soft lips, and need. So much need in both of them.

It didn’t help that Andrew had spoiled Neil. The sex with him too easy, always there if he asked, if he wanted, and always so damn good. Intimacy could be a drug, and Andrew had been so very careful to always give, never take what wasn’t offered. 

Nearly two months without it, without him…

But he could have this.

“That’s right,” the Metal Andrew breathed, nuzzling Neil’s throat right where it made Neil’s knees go weak, and chuckled low in delight when he noticed the reaction. “Oh, oh, I felt that, that was sweet. You are so… why isn’t this filthy with you? Why is it so…”

Neil tensed a little, familiar words spoken in a very different context almost echoing in his ears. Metal Andrew immediately took notice, pressing gently closer, soothing and calm. “It’s okay. It’s all right. Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise. I won’t let it. I’ll protect you. Just… let me… will you let me? Never wanted anything so much. Let me in.”

It was so weird. A mix of the right words and the wrong ones. A mix of what he wanted and what he needed. A mix of Andrew and not Andrew.

Without really thinking about it, Neil’s arms reached up and hugged back. He wanted to calm the silver man too, to ease the distress that was so obvious in his words and his tone. This was something he’d always wished to do for Andrew. To comfort, and hold and sooth.

It was also something Andrew wouldn’t really allow. Yet here…

It was just a dream.

Nothing could happen except maybe waking up to wet sheets. This was safe. It was nothing but a dream. And he wanted it so much, needed to be touched and to touch. To comfort and take comfort.

Not-Andrew’s skin was flawless and warmed under his fingers as they moved against each other, exploring and caressing places that were so familiar for both of them and yet still so unknown. He felt solid, not like any dream Neil had ever dreamed, but he didn’t smell like anything, didn’t taste of anything when Neil’s mouth was claimed in another biting kiss.

Judging by the greedy way the silver man kissed him back though, the same wasn’t true in reverse.

Neil gave up thinking in that moment. The only thing that made it into his mind was Andrew. He wanted, needed Andrew.

Giving into lust so potent he vibrated with it, Neil focused on giving as much pleasure as he was taking. Which he did. Spectacularly, repeatedly. On the floor with not-Andrew above him, under him, around him, inside him, all over him. Against the wall of stars, yet blind to the bleak vastness beyond. On his knees, getting rimmed and blown and fucked until he screamed Andrew’s name. He was given permission to return the pleasure. Between not-Andrew’s legs, panting into unnaturally smooth skin, rutting into slick heaven because he’d been allowed to take this.

At some point, the odorless, tasteless body moving against his developed a scent and a flavor. It took Neil some time to realize it was his own, mirrored back at him as if it was the best thing ever, rich and addictive. He didn’t question it.

He lost himself in it, let it happen. For once, he stopped worrying about Andrew’s boundaries, he believed that ‘it was a yes, until it was a no’. He took knowing that soon, he would also give it back.

It might not have been whom he really wanted, but it was good. Mind-blowing, actually. Also, completely absurd; and for some reason that made it even better. He wouldn’t have been able to let go and let it happen if it had been real. Always so focused on issues and rules and where the lines were drawn and making absolute sure not to cross them.

With the walls between them melting away, outer space became the familiar walls of Andrew’s bedroom. Their room. Satiny sheets were soft under his back and the ceiling was painted in black, like a velvety dreamscape, and Neil felt secure.

He allowed it when, at the end of it, the silver man pulled him closer, not to initiate another round of sex, but to hold him tightly, as though he cared.

There was a knot in Neil’s chest, an ache for Andrew but also a longing for this, for whoever this silver man really was, but this wasn’t real. Nothing but a dream. Just like he and Andrew had been nothing at all. So Neil let it happen, let himself cling back for a little while.

He finally drifted off into deeper slumber, worn out and physically satisfied, his limbs tangled up with not-Andrew’s and his head resting on not-Andrew’s broad chest as if it belonged there.

The last thing he felt was the gentle press of lips against the crown of his head while he listened to the absence of a heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I'm trying to keep like maybe two chapters ahead of my posting. So the more I write, the faster you'll get these chapters. That being said, let me know why you guys think, it inspires me to write more, you know?   
> I'm not even sure anyone but me and Deya are enjoying this story all that much lol


	9. Chapter Eight: Neil's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Dr. Abigail Winfield's POV

Neil woke up alone later that day, no loud and obnoxious eighteen-wheeler necessary.

There was no disorientation either. He knew exactly where he was and how he’d gotten there. The curtains were closed and the A/C unit turned off, so the room was dim and hot.

It smelled like sex, a blend of salty sweat and musky spunk that was pungent, but not completely unpleasant.

Forcing himself to stay still for a while, Neil took stock of his surroundings and the less tangible aspects of his overall condition. Unsurprisingly, he was alone. Unfortunately, the feeling that he wasn’t had intensified. He was well rested, which meant he’d gotten at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was also stuck to the covers and sore in places where he most definitely should not have been sore.

Carefully keeping his mind blank, he got himself unstuck and turned around to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. It was probably beige, but it was sorta hard to tell in the darkness shadowing the room.

His nipples felt tender when his fingers skimmed over them.

Neil swallowed heavily.

There was a little crack in the plaster next to the light fixture. His dick was soft and sensitive to the touch, which he could rationalize away easily despite the fact that he didn’t actually enjoy masturbating all that much… fuck, um… The curtain rod needed dusting. The curtains were clean, though, as far as he could tell.

Carefully, he planted his foot on the bed, lifting his knee, and gently traced a finger over the aching, yielding entrance to his body. Definitely not his own doing.

Curtains, he thought quickly, almost desperately. Dark. Dark curtains. Oh, I need a shower.

The mattress barely made a sound when Neil got up abruptly. Scooping down to grab his duffle gave him a moment of pause as the phantom feeling in his ass suddenly made itself known. Oh god, oh god. Nope.

He grabbed a change of clothes and his toiletry bag before making his way into the bathroom.

The lights came on with a ‘buzz’ when he hit the switch, but Neil barely noticed in his effort to not look in the large mirror. He dropped his stuff onto the counter, pissed, washed his hands, then grabbed his toothbrush and one of the small bars of generic hotel soap and stepped into the bathtub. The water was cold when it first hit him and he was grateful for the distraction of it. The ‘not thinking’ thing was getting harder and harder to maintain, and he was struggling with it. It was helping to concentrate on the essentials.

He adjusted the temperature and brushed his teeth while the water warmed.

Once he was done, he spat and rinsed before putting the plastic end of the toothbrush between his teeth and starting in on the rest of his body. His hair first.

He chewed on the plastic grip a little, bobbing the toothbrush up and down, up and down, getting a rhythm going that served as a mild distraction as he worked his way down his body. When he got to the area between his legs, it stopped working. The lather burned just enough to make him extremely aware of just how well used his body actually was. The way only Andrew had ever left it before.

He closed his eyes and breathed though his nose, focusing on the hard plastic between his teeth.

Up, down, up, down, up, down. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t. Think.

Neil finished quickly from there.

He managed to pack away his toiletries and get himself dressed before grabbing his shaving kit and shaving. He didn’t have much, never managed to grow anything like what Matt and Nicky are capable of, but the few hairs he had were annoying and itchy for both him and Andrew so he shaved every morning anyways. Everything was done calmly, methodically, with great care and diligence. He needed the time to get a handle on his situation, work it through without thinking too loud, because there might just be something listening in.

When he was done with his morning grooming and underlying data processing, he slowly lifted his head and finally met his own gaze in the mirror.

The face that looked back at him almost made him wince, but he held on. Focusing on the little things. The slight warmth in his eyes that his father never had, even if those eyes that looked at him right now were solemn and serious. A vibrant, but icy blue. Nothing unusual about them.

No scars marred his face. Not yet, anyways. Neil’s had a feeling since the last time he’d managed to escape his father, that if the man caught up with him one more time, his face would be the target. A defining mark. A way to make sure Nathaniel Wesninski can never hide in plain sight again.

And wasn’t that just a sobering thought.

He stared at his reflection for a few minutes, trying to see if anything had changed. Had he gone crazy, like his mother? Had paranoia driven him right over the point of no return?

He didn’t feel insane, but he figured most crazy people don’t actually feel crazy, do they?

There was a watchfulness in him now that he didn’t think was entirely his own no matter how much he’s trained for it, a tension that was seated at the base of his skull now instead of his belly. A tickling, barely noticeable scritch-scritching against his collarbones and hips.

He tried to wait it out, but it soon became clear nothing was going to happen until he did or said something to get the ball rolling.

Well, if he was wrong, the worst thing that could happen was that he’d make a fool out of himself where nobody else could see or know about. Neil could deal with that. So he leaned forward a little, clearing his throat.

“I know you’re there.”

No response. Predictable.

“I know you’re there,” He repeated. “I can feel you. Listen, I just want to talk to you. I won’t freak. I just want to talk.” Liar. Neil knew he’d probably freak at least a little. Maybe whatever it was knew that too, because again he got no response, but the watchfulness slowly shifted into a vague feeling of indecisiveness that was both promising and disconcerting because Neil was pretty sure those were not his own feelings.

“Come on,” Neil coaxed quietly, trying for calm and gentle. “I let you in. Now its your turn.”

It was like those words were pure magic.

He had sensed something in the back of his mind, at the edges of his consciousness, since he’d woken up face down on the side of the road. He’d suspected something was going on with him that couldn’t be dismissed as another facet of his current Nathan-induced paranoia. He’d been pretty fucking certain that he hadn’t worked his own body open himself, because that was something he didn’t do in his sleep, and the door had been locked, and he was almost positive he hadn’t been drugged so that he’d let someone in and not remember.

Yet, despite knowing all of these things with a 94% certainty, when his eyes suddenly flashed silver in the mirror before him, he’d still damn near pissed himself.

“Holy fuck!”

Neil flinched back reflexively, his foot slipping on wet floor and just about sending him crashing backward into the bathtub. He caught himself through a combination of excellent balance and common flailing, but the additional scare made his cursing even louder.

 _You promised you wouldn’t freak,_ an offended voice said in his ear.

It made Neil jump and whirl around even though he already knew nobody would be there. His heart was trying to climb up his throat, probably to escape sharing its current living quarters with whatever it was that had taken up residence in Neil’s body. It didn’t help that he fucking recognized that voice: the last time he’d heard it, it had whispered husky praise against his neck as its owner fucked him stupid from behind.

“Oh holy fuck,” Neil whispered with as much feeling as his earlier shout had had. “Oh fuck. Fuck! Who are you? _What_ are you? How… no, no I know how. Last night, I… Fuck! Get out. Get the fuck out of my head!”

 _No,_ the voice said, immediately and without room for debate or argument. _No way. I can’t survive on my own. I need you. I’m not going anywhere._

“Well, I don’t need you,” Neil snapped, his famous temper surging up to the surface after nearly four months of it being mostly none existent, it had come back with a vengeance. “And I don’t want you in me. Get out!”

Something shifted inside him. It felt like tiny little hooks digging into his insides as his squatter clung to him with all its might. _No,_ it snarled. _You can’t make me!_

Neil groaned quietly at both the intense discomfort of the odd sensation that wasn’t quite pain but also wasn’t not pain, and also at the sheer fact that the silver metal bastard had a point. It was holding his damn body hostage, and that was both infuriating and utterly terrifying. “It’s my damn body, you fucking parasite,” he growled.

 _You can damn well share it for a bit,_ the squatter snapped back, not letting up one bit with the hooks. _‘S not like I’m hurting you. I’m not a parasite; I’m a smart armor and weapons system. I’m useful._

“You’re hurting me now,” Neil gasped. The hooks felt like knives now, vicious and in so deep. He could feel himself shaking with adrenaline and an increasing burning sensation under his skin, but the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything, that he was being forced to give up control over something so personal like his fucking body was driving him into a panic attack. No control. He couldn’t run. He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t in control. It wasn’t his choice. He hadn’t said ‘yes’. Andrew…

 _Oh,_ the armor system seemed to flip on a dime, from angry and defiant to suddenly contrite and concerned. The burning inside lessened and then stopped all together, but Neil’s chest was refusing to inflate. _Oh, no, no. I- I’m sorry. Breathe, Neil. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. I just… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to die._

With a bit of push and pull from the inside, Neil’s lungs began taking air normally, but it did nothing for his head. The armor system’s words though, did help.

 _I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you ever again, okay? I’m sorry. I just… I wanted to survive. I’m not saying that what I did was right, but I had no way to ask, or talk to you and – Neil? What are you doing?_ The hooks were back, giving Neil the impression of a cat digging into his leg to avoid getting unseated, and that image just reminded him of Sir and King. Of Andrew. Of the only comfort he’d allowed himself to keep close after the death of his mother.

“I’m trying to calm down,” Neil admitted, eyes closed and breathing even, thoughts coming for only a moment before Neil let them go. The meditation exercises Andrew had shown him almost a year ago now. “Stop it with the clinging.”

The digging into his bones stopped immediately. _Is it working?_ Came the hopeful inquiry from his passenger. _‘Cause you promised you wouldn’t get upset._

“Well, I didn’t actually know that there was really something in me.” Neil shot back with no real heat. He sighed once, deeply, before lifting his head again to study his eyes once more, but there was nothing in them that didn’t belong there. “I was mostly bluffing. You scared the shit out of me.”

 _Yeah, right back atcha,_ the squatter muttered. It still sounded as though there was someone speaking right into Neil’s ear, which was disconcerting to say the least. _And stop calling me a squatter._

“You are squatting. In my body. I should know, I spent a very good majority of my younger years as a squatter in various places around the world. But okay. Whatever. Let’s talk about this.”

Just not in front of the mirror though. His own reflection was repulsive enough, but the empty space behind him was giving Neil the creeps.

Neil walked out into the main area of the hotel room and sat himself down on one of the couches, bringing his elbows to his knees and holding his face in his hands. “You sabotaged my truck last night, didn’t you? And then when I went out to check it, that was you all over the engine.” And then you jumped in my face, you fucker. Although that last part went unsaid, Neil hopped his little guest still heard it.

 _I was about to start to disintegrate,_ his guest explained again. Neil’s memory of the dream pushing that conversation and only that conversation onto the forefront of his mind. Oh fuck…, _I needed a host. It was do or die._

“Yeah. I get that. I remember.” Neil calmed himself a bit, focusing on facts and information and leaving emotions out of it. “So what happened? What are you?’

There was a pause, as if his squatter was debating with itself over just how much to tell so as to not freak out its host. Neil allowed it, he was sort of teetering on the edge of hyperventilating as it was. Not being freaked out further would be a good thing.

 _I am one of six intelligent battle armor and weapons system. I am also that last survivor of my ship’s crew._ Despite the slightly proper and diplomatic way that was all said, there was a tinge of sadness and guilt in the tone. Neil would have focused more on that if the last two words hadn’t completely captured his attention.

His head popped up out of his hands and he stared at the tv, still turned off. “Wait. Ship? Space ship? You’re a fucking alien?”

And suddenly, Neil really hated Andrew for introducing him to the Alien Invasion movie genre, because that threw him right into panic mode. Neil had to check his belly and his chest for any signs of distension as he quietly struggled for breath.

_Neil, listen. I’m not going to mess with you, okay? Or… breed in you. Gah. That’s disgusting._

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Neil asked, carefully noting that apparently the alien could suck general concepts out of his mind as easily as focused thoughts and language data. “You could be trying to lull me into a false sense of security until your eggs hatch or something.” Geez, Andrew, why. Neil would have gone his entire life happily never even knowing those kinds of movies even existed.

 _Yeah,_ his squatter huffed, _or I could just barf into your brain right now and be done with it. It was an emergency, you asshole – I had no choice but to find a host and you were the only compatible organism around. Can’t we just.. agree to cohabitate for a while? I swear I won’t nest, or hatch, or… or whatever other gross things you can come up with. I’ll be no trouble. You won’t hardly know I’m there._

Neil’s face fell back into his palms and he sighed again, feeling completely out of his depth with all of this.

Not for the first time that day, Neil allowed himself to wish for Andrew’s calm and anchoring presence. The stoic apathy had always seemed to calm him more than just about anything else. For that strong, hot hand pressed securely to the back of his neck, centering him and giving him something to hold onto during his worst bouts of panic or worry or fear.

Three years is a long time to fall into those comfortable, domestic little habits, and two months is much too short a time to break those habits in comparison.

Fuck, what would Andrew even say about all of this? Would he look at Neil different now that he had an alien inside of him? Would Andrew even believe a damn word out of his mouth if he tried to explain the situation to him? Did it matter.

Neil had run. The one thing Andrew had asked him not to do, and Neil had broken it, broken that promise. He’d taken off at the first sign of trouble, at the first glimpse of Lola. Of Jackson. And then of Romero all in the span of four days.

He couldn’t have Andrew either way.

He was a risk. A death sentence for everyone who associated with him. He’d be alone, running for his whole life.

_You…you don’t have to be._

Neil’s eyes squeezed just at the silver bastard’s words.

“Fuck off. I’m just convenient to you too. The only organism near by compatible enough for you not to fucking die, don’t placate me. I know what I’m worth.”

‘Nothing.’ He hears Andrew’s voice in his head this time, and he knows it’s a memory. Not the alien.

His fucked-up passenger snorts. _No, you don’t. You obviously weren’t listening last time, so I’m going to say it again._ There is a gentle roll of velvet touch climbing warmly from his tailbone all the way up his spine and to the back of his head and Neil gasps at how good that felt, arching his back gently under the sensation. _You fit me so well. I’ve never found someone who does. My last host, he was disgusting. Slimy and vile. I was stuck with him for some time before I managed to get away. I may have found you by accident, but I’m not sorry about it._

Shit. What the fuck was that?

Did the alien in his head just go from a 5-year-old brat to sexy seducer in the span of ten or so minutes? And what in the hell was that feeling, that roll up his spine, the touch that wasn’t scratching or digging in. Wasn’t painful…

“No. No, I can’t... I don’t think I can handle that right now.” Neil found the words falling out of his mouth before he could think about them. He’d been doing much too much of that lately, hadn’t he.

The change was instantaneous.

The alien seemed to curl up into itself, detaching from nearly all points of contact but the one in Neil’s center, and boy was that a weird feeling.

 _Sorry. I didn’t… I won’t do it again._ But that hadn’t been the problem.

The problem had been that he’d liked it.

The current problem was that with his word, with his firm ‘no’ the damn silver bastard had retreated, had given Neil his space, or as much of it as he could give, given their circumstances. He’d respected Neil’s word. Why did that make Neil feel good? Why did that completely blow his mind? Was this how Andrew felt when Neil had accepted Andrew’s ‘no’s right off the bat with no complaints or negative emotions?

“No, it’s… it’s okay.” Again, Neil spoke before he really knew what he meant to say. “I just… It’s too much right now to pile that on top of everything else. I didn’t exactly… I didn’t exactly dislike it.” That was so hard to admit, even to himself. For so long, the only other touch that Neil had not only accepted, but enjoyed had been Andrew’s. Yet, this alien bastard that had hijacked his body didn’t immediately fill him with disgust or revulsion like anyone else’s touch might have. Was that because of last night?

 _Oh_ , the little squatter breathed. _Okay._

There was a moment of silence shared between them. Comfortable and still heavy, before the alien spoke again. _So I can stay?_

Neil thought about it. He thought about how lonely he’d been these last two months without Andrew, without Nicky, Matt, Kevin, even Aaron. Without friends or anyone lasting. Without anyone to talk to, or share space with. Without cigarettes on top of a roof.

Neil figures, maybe the company wouldn’t be so bad. At least this will be something his father won’t be able to take away. This is something that is literally inside him. Always with him. No one even knows its there. He could have this. And best of all, he could keep it. If he wanted to.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can stay.”

The second the words were out, Neil felt a shifting under his skin, but not unpleasantly so. It was actually nice and warm, and kneading. Like a massage. _Thank you._ The alien sighed softly.

And that made Neil think of his last words to Andrew. The last words Andrew will ever remember from him: ‘Thank you. You were amazing.’

Yeah. He could have this. But it still wouldn’t be what he truly wanted.

He’s just going to have to learn to live with it.


	10. Chapter Nine: Dr. Abigail Winfield's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Abigail Winfield's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Neil's POV

The military personnel working at Camp Jackson had seen their fair share of unusual top-secret things. Sometimes, it was hard to tell why anybody bothered labeling any of the objects and/or people coming through the Basement as ‘classified’. Other times, it seemed like a good idea to just do what you were told and shut your god damned mouth about it. Lastly, there were times when even the most bored-to-death grunt would feel the slight undercurrent of excitement in the air that made one sit up and pay attention.

The arrival of the Texas convoy was just such an event.

There was something about the way the transport had been assigned ‘top priority’, about the faces of the guards as they helped unload the three unremarkable hazmat containers, about the subtle air of tension and care given to those containers by everyone around them, that spoke very clearly of the oddities inside.

Nobody knew anything, and nobody was going to ask, but within the hour Camp Jackson was humming with interest and quiet speculation.

Down on the sublevels, in sublevel eight where the forensic labs were placed, the whispers were more subdued, though no less intense. The boxes were carried into the high security lab and left there unopened until the security protocols were enabled. The forensic team of four under the command of Lieutenant Dr. Abigail Winfield scrubbed down and donned hazmat suits and masks, a precaution they were used to but that still made most of them a little bit queasy deep down in their gut. It was a normal reaction to the unwieldy outfits and the limited field of vision caused by the mask, but as uncomfortable as it could be, it also kept them on their toes and helped avoid complacency. Not that they were in danger of treating this as an ordinary case.

If it had been an ordinary case, they’d have done CT scans, MRIs, and maybe an ultrasonograph before sending in people, but since they didn’t know what X-rays, magnetization, or high frequency sound waves would do to these bodies, the autopsy was going to be done the old-fashioned way first.

When they were suited up, the team filed in through the airlock security doors that were sealed behind them. That had only happened once so far and there wasn’t a one of them who didn’t feel discomfited by it. Nobody, no matter how professional, likes to be reminded that, ultimately, they were all expendable.

“All right, people,” Dr. Winfield said, getting them on track with familiar gruffness, though her smile was kind. “Let’s open them up.”

They broke the seals and worked the locks and clasps, and finally carefully, very, very carefully, lifted the lid off the first box.

It took a while to transfer the contents from the container to the autopsy table. The body was surprisingly heavy for being so small, and almost completely doubled over in a tight ball of ruined tissue. It was blackened, crumbly, and parts of the sooty film that covered it flaked off when their gloved hands touched it.

“Weird texture,” Dr. Rogner observed, lifting a broken-off piece of what looked like a finger out of the crate and examining it carefully. “Is this metal?”

It did sound like metal when he put it on the table next to the body, and it clunked down with notably more emphasis than charred flesh or bone. Then, it fell apart.

They all looked as one at the pitiful heap of crusty material and then at the corpse, half expecting it to follow suit. When it didn’t, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“New orders,” Dr. Winfield stated flatly. “Touch very fucking carefully. Next box.”

Nobody had a clue what, exactly, they were dealing with here except for the very real possibility that it was bona-fide extraterrestrial being. Which was admittedly exciting, but it also meant that they were flying blind. They’d discussed potential procedural methods beforehand; among a host of other things, whether it was smarter to examine the bodies one at a time or together.

Dr. Rogner insisted it might have been safer to keep two in their boxes while working on the third, for preservation purposes if nothing else, but fact was they didn’t know how well the hazmat containers would keep the remains. In the end, they’d decided to get them all out, put them on display so they’d be able to draw comparisons, get pictures and video footage of all of them next to each other.

Actually, the carefully regulated environment of the lab was probably better suited to conserve the corpses than the containers. It was the transfer from point A to point B that was the tricky part, but the team was well rehearsed and heaving the brittle treasure into the light with tremendous caution and skill.

The second body very much resembled the first: small, curled in on itself, and heavy. They set it down like a raw egg, holding their breath until they were reasonably sure it wouldn’t break apart and turn to ash. It came to rest on its side, and Dr. Winfield leaned closer in fascination when she saw the back wasn’t quite as badly destroyed as the rest of the creature.

“This is case number TX01/20160615, unidentified subject Two. The body is,” – she checked the markings on the table and the display of the integrated scaled – “fifty inches tall and weighs 132.121 pounds. It appears humanoid, but the skull is elongated and the knee joints appear inverted. Either that or we are dealing with an animal-type of bone structure, which would make this the tarsus. This body is badly burnt; dermis and epidermis appear mostly carbonized except for parts of the upper back.” She nodded at her assistant, who was in charge of taking pictures, and pointed. “I want close-ups of this and this.”

The camera clicked quietly as Elaine Rockford moved around to find the perfect angles for a minute or two, then moved in again and continued her initial assessment.

“The tissue along what appears to be the left shoulder blade and about halfway down the spine is in better condition than the rest of the body. The texture looks organic in the upper section, metallic in the lower.” She reached up and pulled down the mechanical arm holding the magnifier to zoom in on the area. “Huh,” Dr. Winfield grunted, surprised. “This is no shell armor or piece of clothing. It appears the metal is fused to the body on a sub-dermal level.”

Elaine Rockford frowned a little and squinted through the lens, intrigued. “This might have been caused by the high temperature and pressure generated during the explosion, but…” She shook her head and trailed off, knowing they would have to do a full autopsy on the body to make it yield its secrets. They’d get to it. They had time.

“Last box.” Dr. Winfield ordered. “Let’s see if number three has something else to tell us before we go in.”

The third corpse, as it turned out, was special indeed.

More damaged, for one.

Despite their utmost care, it broke in two when it touched down on the metal surface of the autopsy table. They tried to stabilize the halves, but the scrawny, crispy neck couldn’t take the weight of itself and snapped like a twig.

Dr. Winfield’s college volleyball training kicked in and she managed to catch the skull before it could shatter on the floor.

She frowned down a the fragile, fire-blackened ball of bone, noting how tiny it looked in the cradle of her big, sunshine-yellow gloves. Dainty as a child’s. But then, they’d already picked up on how much lighter than the other two bodies this one was when they’d lifted it from the container. The sound it had made on impact had been that of an extremely burnt carcass, not that of an extremely burnt carcass suffused with metal.

The team crowded around the table, puzzled by the differences, pointing out how this corpse was all stretched out instead of curled up; its overall condition much worse than the others’. Fractures visible in the blacked skin, bones splintered badly, and some of them looking as if they’d been busted open from the inside.

“Maybe this is something else,” Dr. Rogner suggested, doubtfully.

Behind them, Elaine Rockford, Winfield’s assistant, cleared her throat. “Uhm. Ma’am?”

“It has the same shape and body type,” Dr. Winfield mused, ignoring her in favor of the skull in her hands. “If the metal was some kind of armor, then my guess would be that this one wasn’t suited up when the missile hit it, but if that was the case, it shouldn’t be in one piece.”

“Ma’am,” Elaine piped up again. “You might want to have a look at this.”

“What is it?” Dr. Winfield asked, slightly irritated by being asked to abandon her train of thought, but too aware of the urgency in her assistant’s voice to blow her off again.

“It’s a hole,” Elaine said, nervously. “In the bottom of the crate.”

Dr. Winfield’s eyes widened behind the mask. She handed the skull to Dr. Rogner, who immediately froze so as not to endanger the priceless bone.

“A hole?” Dr. Winfield stalked over to the box in question to peek inside. “If the container was contaminated, that might explain the –” She stopped, almost swallowing her own tongue when she realized what had her assistant so rattled. “Fuck me,” she whispered, and the switch from consummate professional to freaked-out individual almost made Rogner drop the burnt head in his hands.

“What?” He asked, stepping closer as well. He wasn’t the only one.

Within moments, the team was gathered around the box, jostling for position to stare at the hole.

“This was made from the inside,” Dr. Winfield declared tonelessly. “This facility might have been compromised. I’m initiating lockdown.” She strode over to the communication unit set into the wall panel next to the bulletproof observation window. “This is Lieutenant Dr. Abigail Winfield. I’m calling a Code Red. I repeat: Code Red. Seal the base.”

Damnit. Shit like this wasn’t supposed to happen outside of the fucking movies.


	11. Chapter Ten: Neil's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Andrew's POV

Neil had gone on a run as soon as he felt up to it.

It gave him a way to case out the neighborhood he found himself in, and it gave him the opportunity to find another car to hopefully steal next, because he wouldn’t be able to keep the truck for much longer. Doubtless its already been reported and Neil needed to not get arrested any time soon.

Neil was supposed to be used to being on his own. He was supposed to feel alright now, in the silence and the loneliness, but ‘alright’ was the last thing he was.

While silences weren’t unusual, they were always comfortable when he shared them with Andrew. But here, by himself reading, sitting, exercising just enough to not lose his mind, he was slowly going insane.

Despite the alien system sharing his body, he didn’t try to initiate conversation. He was still a little freaked if he were being honest, and he was also unnerved by his own feelings regarding the hitchhiker. Was he so desperate for company that anything would do? Anything at all? Was he missing Andrew so much that he’d take an alien who could look just like the man he’d given everything for, just for the comfort of the familiarity?

“Hey. You still there?”

 _Yeah,_ came the answer almost immediately. Then, anxiously, _are you okay?_

Neil snorted. “I’m fine.” And god, if Andrew were there, he’d slap Neil upside the head for that one. “That doesn’t matter though. I wanted to talk to you about what to call you. If you’re going to be sticking around, I don’t want to keep calling you ‘alien’.”

There was a small stillness inside, and then a pensive feeling of deep thought. _I… I guess I never thought of that._

“You don’t have a name?” Neil frowned. “What did your last victim call you?”

 _Host, not victim,_ the alien corrected a little bitterly. _And proud to have been chosen as such, thank you very much. He was a volunteer and had to pass a very thorough screening to be even allowed close to me._

The alien must have sensed Neil’s interest, because he could have sworn it moved slightly in him, the miniscule shift in position eliciting a weird, slithering sensation deep in his body. It was oh so very odd, so he tried not to even think about it. Not that it helped, because his squatter also seemed to feel his discomfort because the movement stopped.

 _System Six,_ it told him quietly. _That’s what they called me. There were six of us, originally. I was the last one out of the lab. We were experimental armor systems. Prototypes. They made us different, but we were all created to be adaptable so we’d be able to adjust to our host’s body and personality. The idea was that armor and host would enhance each other, but we were still primarily considered tools. We didn’t get names, just numbers._ There was a sadness to the alien’s voice and Neil sort of understood.

He was much the same thing to the man who’d created him as well. Had even been named after him. Nathaniel. He’d been nothing but a tool too.

“I get it. We don’t normally name our tools either.” There was so much bitterness from the both of them, that Neil wasn’t sure where his ended and the alien’s began.

_I’m not a tool. I’m an artificial intelligence. I’m aware, I feel. I… I guess I want a name. People have names. Pets have names. I want one too._

The voice was upset now, which Neil understood, but it was also unfair. It was so hard to keep an emotional distance, especially considering it had introduced itself to him wearing Andrew’s face. That was another thing they would have to talk about, because it had been a mindfuck in more than one sense. But that would be for later. Neil wasn’t ready for that conversation. The name thing was less traumatic, and more easily resolved.

“Pick a name then,” he suggested, sitting himself down on the bed of the hotel room. He’d already put away all of his things into his duffle, always ready to run. He felt too edgy, especially now that he knew his father’s people were still looking for him. “This is your chance. Make it a good one, something meaningful.”

The alien seemed confused, but hopeful and considerate. _Do you have any ideas?_

Neil thought about all of the names he’s had in his life.

Nathaniel. Junior. Alex. Chris. Jonathan. Stefan. Neil… Abram.

_Oh! I like that one!_

“W-what?” Neil startled out of his memories at the sound of the alien’s voice. “Which one?”

_Abram. I like that one. You got all warm and safe when you thought of it. I want to make you feel that way about me. Can that be my name?_

There was a blush rising on his cheeks but Neil only groaned. Ignoring that for now.

Abram. No one knew that name anymore. Not even Andrew. No one knew what it meant. His truth. Sunrise, Abram, Death. The only truths he really knew and believed. Could he give that to the alien?

 _It doesn’t have to be that name,_ the voice was small now. Careful as it probed his emotions. _We can choose something else._

Neil sighed. Shaking himself out of his memories. “No. It’s okay. It’s the one you like. So you can have it. It… it doesn’t mean anything anymore anyways.”

 _Don’t lie. You can’t lie to me. I can feel it,_ the grumpy tone made Neil smile, reminding him a little of Kevin. _It means something to you. What is ‘your truth’?_

Shit, so the alien had caught that, hadn’t it. Neil’s smile turned rueful, brittle at the edges. “When I was younger, I used to move around a lot. Lying to protect myself and my mom. We were running from my father. In the end, he got her. She died and I burned her body and buried her bones. The last words she spoke to me were: ‘Don’t slow down. Don’t look back. Don’t trust anyone. And don’t be anyone for too long.’ I spent years following those words. Until…” Until Andrew. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. “Until around three years ago. When I stopped, I decided to be… as much myself as I could still find. I’ve always been a patchwork of lies badly stitched together, but the one name that was always there, the one truth I had was that name. Abram. But now, Neil is who I am. Abram is just… what I used to build who I wanted to be.”

 _I see. Will you allow me to be a part of that truth? Can I have Abram?_ There was tension in the core of him, a weary sort of hope that Neil understood so very well. He’d felt that same hope when he’d kissed Andrew on top of a hotel roof what seemed like so long ago.

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Abram.” It was so odd to call out his own name, but he figured he’d get used to it.

Suddenly there was a shiver of happy alien and the feeling of that little shudder made Neil groan. It was like a full body caress and Neil wasn’t sure if he hated it or really really liked it.

“What the hell was that?” Neil gasped, hand moving unwillingly to his lower stomach, just above his thickening cock.

Abram shifted, a feeling of chagrin filling the spaces between them. _Sorry. I’m happy you allowed me this. Not only a name at all, but your truth._ Again, came another shift, feeling like a warm wet tongue running the length of his sternum. From the inside. Oh geez what the fuck was that.

“How are you even doing that?” Neil asked, falling back onto the bed with a stifled groan. “What are you doing? It’s like you’re touching me but from the inside.”

 _Neil, you just answered your own question. I am touching you. Sometimes, when I feel things too much I do it without thinking. Other times…_ there was a moment of pause, and then Neil’s breath hitched in his chest.

Tendrils of sensation prickled his inner thighs, the feeling akin to Andrew’s stubbled cheek raking gently before dull teeth bit down to bruise him there. “Oh shit. Abram, don’t.”

Just like before, the touch receded instantly, leaving Neil gasping and aroused, mind on Andrew and how weird it had been to call out his own name like that again. Well, he guessed that now it wasn’t his anymore. It belonged to the alien now, Neil’s truth belonged to Abram and he had to get used to it. He would get used to it. He would get used to it.

_Sorry. I won’t do it again, if you’d like. I know if feels good though, I can feel it in us. I like it, I like sex._

Fuck, Neil did too. He hadn’t, not before Andrew and not since either, but this was… he wasn’t sure. It felt good, yes but it was so weird at the same time. But it was like Abram had said before. ‘Why doesn’t this feel filthy with you…’

“No… it’s okay. Just… not now. I need to find something to eat. And I need to steal another car and drop the truck off at the junk yard. It should be two miles out.” Neil replied, a little embarrassed by his own reactions and trying to focus on the practical.

Instantly, Abram’s amusement was felt just at the edge of his embarrassment. As Neil got up and grabbed everything, the alien spoke again. _You don’t have to be shy. I’m glad you like it._

Neil’s shiver this time was all his own.

\--

Trekking out of a junkyard in the middle of nowhere, Neil kept a keen eye on his surroundings, and felt more than a little grateful for Abram, who apparently used their senses together to keep his own vigil. The Armor and Weapons system was apparently more useful than Neil had originally thought he’d be.

It didn’t take very long for him to run into a nursing home.

Years had taught Neil that nursing homes were generally someone’s best bet at finding a car so frequently unattended that the theft wouldn’t be reported for days, if at all. While hospitals were usually a good place too, Neil didn’t feel very comfortable stealing from people who were already potentially having the worst days of their lives. So nursing homes and long term housing facilities it was.

Getting into an old lime green bronco didn’t take long, and Neil drove away quickly. He had to stop at a pub a little down the road to change the plates, and then again at another bar the next city over for food.

Despite his instincts they left his bag in the back seat of the bronco and made their way into a grungy roadhouse long past its prime. The neon letters in the window advertising Budweiser beer were buzzing weakly and the plaster was peeling from the façade to show the cheap flake boards beneath. The places only saving grace was the smell coming from the back kitchens.

Neil took a moment to survey the parking lot. The scattering of bikes and battered trucks that looked like just about any other bar in Texas. Better yet, it was the kind of clientele that would make his father’s men stick out like a sore thumb. His father’s Baltimore East Coast city boys; all understated chic and expensive shoes, especially Lola. One step in here and everybody would be staring at them. It was the best early-warning system Neil could have asked for at the moment.

The white t-shirt he wore didn’t cling to his skin and it was a material thick enough to hide his scars. Neil was grateful for that at least, though the ones on his arms and hands still made him self-conscious at the worst of times. He could play it off with this crowd though. The cowboy hat perched on his head, the boots, his loping confident walk, and the accent he’d been using to mimic the locals didn’t earn him more than a glance as he settled himself on one of the booths.

Andrew had fucking loved his accents. Any of them, every time Neil switched between them to mock or joke around, Andrew would get that intent look in his eyes. The glare always less than hostile as Neil smiled back, wide and unafraid of the man so many people called ‘Monster’.

 _You ever gonna tell me about Andrew sometime?_ Abram asked, cutting into Neil’s thoughts.

Instantly there was a knot in Neil’s throat.

“Nothing to tell.” He murmured lowly. Andrew’s voice in his ear. ‘This is nothing. There is no this.’

 _Lying doesn’t work with me, Neil._ Abram reminds him, though his voice is unusually gentle. Neil kinda wants to hit him.

“It doesn’t matter now anyways.” He tries to insist.

 _Doesn’t it? You’re running from people who want to hurt you. But I can protect you. I’m an armor system,_ there is a distinct ‘duh’ somewhere in there and Neil snorts. If he were inclined to, he’d most likely be craving alcohol just so he’d be able to get through this conversation. He wouldn’t though. Andrew wasn’t here to watch over him, to make sure he was safe while he let some of his carefully guarded control slip. Neil had never gotten drunk unless he was brutally injured or with Andrew, and he wanted to hold to that truth.

“Can you just let it go for now, Abram. You’re about to experience your very first burger.” It was said as a way to distract, and it worked wonders.

There was a pleasant little shuffle inside him and for some reason it made Neil smile. “What are you so excited about?” because that shuffle was one Neil recognized.

 _Nothing, really,_ Abram claimed.

Neil’s eyebrow rose, but he kept his gaze on the menu in front of him, waiting for the alien to crack. It did not take long. _Alien food,_ he whispered sounding at once uneasy and thrilled. _It smells so weird. Is it good? Do you think I’ll enjoy it?_ There was a sheepish flutter under his skin and it made Neil’s whole-body shiver.

Ignore it. Fuck, just ignore it.

It was such a weird concept now that Neil bothered to stop and think about it. The alien entity living inside him now, hadn’t had many experiences at all. He was in a strange world were everything had a very high probability of being terrifying and horrible. Neil felt for him. He’d lived his whole damn childhood in that state of fear and paranoia. The only peace he’d ever found was…

Ignore it.

“Well. I guess we’re about to find out.” He said instead, pushing down any other thoughts. “Though, if you’re anything like me, you’ll love burgers. Easy, on the go, fast food makes up most of my menu plan if I’m being honest.”

Abram wasn’t about to complain. Especially not when the smell of these ‘burgers’ was so very interesting.


End file.
